


Never Had a Chance

by kiwikero



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Camping, F/F, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:58:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwikero/pseuds/kiwikero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What if we don’t have to?” Louis asks slowly, and Harry can practically see the gears behind Louis’ eyes spinning madly as his mind concocts whatever harebrained scheme he’s envisioning. </p><p>Harry lets his hand fall to his lap, Louis’ fingers still closed around his forearm. The other boy makes no move to pull away, and Harry relishes the unexpected contact. “Don’t have to what?” Harry asks, his brain catching up with his ears as he looks at Louis expectantly.</p><p>The pink, pointed tip of Louis’ tongue darts out to wet his lips before he fixes Harry with an intense stare. “Have to go to uni without losing our virginity first.”</p><p>Or, the one where Harry wants Louis, Louis wants to lose his virginity, and a camping trip is exactly what they need to sort themselves out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Had a Chance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salutedeluxe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salutedeluxe/gifts).



>  
> 
>   
> 
> 
> Hello! First off, let me say that youngmind had some fantastic prompts, and I couldn't pick just one, so I combined two of them! I hope that's okay. =) I don't know much about Little Mix, but you asked for side Jerrie, so I hope I did okay. <3
> 
> Yay! Reveal time! Is anyone surprised this is mine?
> 
> Thanks so much to my amazing and tireless beta, Sarah, as well as my lovely Britpickers Vikki and Hannah.
> 
> Small warning for very slight One Tree Hill spoilers! 
> 
> The song for this fic is "Can't Let Go" by Landon Pigg.

There are a lot of firsts in Harry’s life that he will never forget.

The first time he rode a roller coaster. The first time he drove a car. His first legal drink. The first time he met his best friend, Louis. The first time he marathoned One Tree Hill with said best friend.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the third time they marathon it, either.

The theme tune blares from the telly as the two boys sing along, legs tangled together and backs pressed against opposite arms of the couch. It’s the end of June, and Harry and Louis are officially finished with sixth form. They’ve applied to universities, sat their exams, and now the summer hols seem to stretch endlessly before them, full of potential.

“I don’t get it,” Louis complains, tucking a cold foot inside the leg of Harry’s trackies.

“Don’t get what?” Harry asks. The icy touch makes him shiver, but he doesn’t pull away. Louis has been leeching body heat from him for the past ten years, and it’s something he knows he’ll miss when they go off to different schools come autumn.

Shoving his caramel-coloured fringe off his forehead, Louis gestures at the screen. “Everyone, literally everyone on this show is getting some. Parents, teachers, students.” He flicks his gaze from the TV to Harry, scrunching his nose as he continues. “We managed to go through all of secondary school without having sex, and on this show it seems like you can trip and end up fucking somebody.”

A giggle escapes Harry’s mouth at that mental image. Harry’s been known to trip over thin air; if it were that easy, he’d have been laid tons of times by now. “Yeah, even that one kid, Lips, he ends up finding someone, doesn’t he?” Harry asks. He shrugs. “Maybe it’s different in America. Or, you know, it’s just a television programme.”

“I know it’s a television programme, Haz. That’s not the point,” Louis sasses, digging his toes into Harry’s leg. “My point is, it’s not realistic. I was given expectations of a healthy sex life in my teenage years.” He rolls his eyes as he turns back to the TV. “And Lips, really? It’s Mouth. At least act like you pay attention to my favourite show,” Louis says with a scoff.

Harry lets out a _hmmph,_ pulling his legs underneath him and away from Louis’ chilly toes. “I do pay attention. There are like a million characters,” he grumbles.

Louis does have a point, though. It’s strange to see a world where it’s hard to make it out of school without sleeping with someone, whereas Harry and Louis both have their V cards firmly intact. Hell, for all the romance he’s had over the past few years, Harry thinks he may as well get his laminated. Sex was never something he thought too hard about, that’s all. When you’re one of the few blokes in your village to like other blokes, it sort of makes it hard to find someone to be intimate with. Besides, Harry’s perfectly happy just spending time with Louis instead of going out and trying to pull like the other boys in their year.

“Never thought I’d go off to uni still a virgin, that’s all,” Louis says almost wistfully, watching Lucas talking to Peyton while she paints her room white (Harry knows who Lucas and Peyton are, at least, given Louis’ crush on the former and habit of comparing Harry’s curls to the latter).

They sit in comfortable silence through the rest of the episode, making faces at each other when characters they don’t like appear on the screen. Harry only half pays attention, though, too hung up on Louis’ words to listen closely.

The problem is, Harry sort of has feelings for Louis, and has for years. His friendship with Louis, now a decade in the making, is something he isn’t willing to throw away on a silly crush. He’s just accepted the fact that he has to love Louis from afar, and is grateful that the other boy is a part of his life at all. Of course, being head over heels for your best friend makes it difficult to find romance elsewhere, so Harry will be starting uni a virgin as well.

The end credits begin to roll, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. He reaches for the remote to skip to the next episode, but Louis grabs his arm before Harry can pick up the controller.

“What if we don’t have to?” Louis asks slowly, and Harry can practically see the gears behind Louis’ eyes spinning madly as his mind concocts whatever harebrained scheme he’s envisioning.

Harry lets his hand fall to his lap, Louis’ fingers still closed around his forearm. The other boy makes no move to pull away, and Harry relishes the unexpected contact. “Don’t have to what?” Harry asks, his brain catching up with his ears as he looks at Louis expectantly.

The pink, pointed tip of Louis’ tongue darts out to wet his lips before he fixes Harry with an intense stare. “Have to go to uni without losing our virginity first.”

The laugh that bursts from Harry’s throat is equal parts startled and incredulous, and Louis withdraws his hand with a flicker of something almost rueful passing over his features. “You make it sound so easy, Lou,” Harry chuckles. “Like guys are lining up to shag me. _You,_ maybe, but not me.”

Louis scoffs, any trace of hurt hidden under his carefully composed expression. “You know as well as I do that isn’t true, Harry,” he chides softly. Louis reaches out again, this time circling his fingers around Harry’s exposed ankle. “I mean me and you. We could help each other out. We’ve done it before.”

Of course, the kiss.

It all started when they were just entering secondary school and Louis confided in Harry that he wasn’t looking at girls the same way their classmates were. They shared a tentative, messy first kiss one day on the walk to Harry’s after school, confirming for both of them that they were more interested in boys. Well, for Louis at least. For Harry it confirmed that he was interested in Louis.

Harry knows his mouth is hanging open, but there’s little he can do to control the shock of Louis’ words. _Is he really suggesting what I think he is?_ “I’m not sure I follow,” Harry says carefully, furrowing his brows and trying not to outwardly panic.

Licking his lips, Louis scoots just the tiniest bit closer to Harry. “Haz,” he says, his voice an excited whisper. “We could lose our virginity. Together.” His cheeks are filling with colour, and Harry’s taken aback; he can’t recall ever seeing Louis blush like this. Louis’ eyes seem to dance in anticipation as he meets Harry’s gaze expectantly. “What do you say?”

Somehow, Harry thinks that ‘holy shit’ is not what Louis is hoping to hear, so he stays silent while he tries to make sense of the jumble of thoughts in his head. It’s not like he’s never contemplated sleeping with Louis. Quite the opposite, in fact. Louis has been the star of many of Harry’s illicit fantasies over the years. It wouldn’t mean the same for Louis, is the thing, and it would be incredibly selfish for Harry to agree—to get what he wants while Louis has no idea. On the other hand, if Louis wants his first time to be with someone he trusts, someone he’s comfortable with, then as a friend Harry doesn’t think he can refuse.

“Okay,” he says eventually, his chest tightening with every breath he takes. Did he really just agree to fall into bed with his best friend in the entire world? Trying not to let Louis see the panic he’s sure is radiating off of him, Harry keeps his focus on his hands, tightly clenching the fabric of his joggers.

There’s a funny sort of gleam in Louis’ eyes when Harry lifts his head, unnerved by the silence since his agreement.

“Okay,” Louis repeats, lips twitching up into a grin. “Yeah, okay.” He seems genuinely excited, the edges of his eyes crinkling.

Harry pastes on a smile, hoping it reads more ‘excited’ than ‘I’m trying not to hurl in your lap.’ “Okay,” he repeats with a tight nod of his head. “So, erm, when are we doing this? My mum’s going to be home from work soon.”

Louis taps his chin thoughtfully. “And my house is never empty. Between me mum and sisters, someone is always home.”

“What about Friday?” Harry suggests, feeling as if every bit of moisture in his mouth has evaporated. “My mum and Robin work, so we’d have the house to ourselves all day. Give us time to get, like, supplies as well.” It’s Harry’s turn to blush, imagining going to the shops for condoms and lube, the cashier giving him a cheeky wink as she bags his purchases. Does that happen in real life? What if it’s someone he knows?

The fingers wrapped around his ankle squeeze lightly before Louis pulls his hand away. “Yeah, Friday, perfect.” If he can tell that Harry is internally freaking out, he’s at least kind enough not to say anything. “And I can take care of the supplies, if you want?” Louis offers.

 _Oh thank goodness, yes please,_ Harry thinks. “Sure, if you want,” he says, hoping for nonchalance.

“Wicked.” Louis’ face is pulled wide in a Cheshire Cat grin, the sharp points of his canines peeking over his bottom lip. He claps Harry on the shoulder, the contact sending an electric current sparking through Harry’s veins. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of this sooner.”

 _Well, you didn’t, at least,_ Harry muses, but says nothing. Instead, he returns a smile of his own and starts the next episode, letting the endless drama of Tree Hill High School make him forget his own melodrama for the time being.

❦

Harry has never dreaded a Friday more in his life.

It isn’t that he’s not excited, or that he doesn’t want this to happen. He is, and he does. He’s just so fucking _nervous._ There are no secrets between Louis and Harry (well, apart from Harry’s crush, but that isn’t the point). They’ve shared everything from their snacks in primary school to stolen bottles of alcohol as teens, so sharing their bodies shouldn’t be a big deal, right?

Except it’s a huge fucking deal. Harry wants to be so good for Louis, but he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. All he knows about gay sex he’s learned from porn, and they don’t exactly stop mid-thrust to give pointers. The sex talk he’d received from his mum had amounted to promising to wear a condom no matter what, Harry not quite ready to tell her that teenage pregnancy was the last thing she needed to worry about.

So instead he reads articles and scrolls through comments on message boards, hoping to gather some advice for a good first time. It ranges from informative to terrifying, and when Harry wakes up Friday morning he feels no better prepared than he was before. Louis will be knocking on his door in an hour, and he hopes to god that his friend knows a bit more about what he’s doing than Harry does.

One of the more helpful things the internet taught Harry is that it’s not unusual not to last terribly long your first time, and that it can help if you get yourself off once first. So he does just that, standing under the spray of a hot shower, the water cascading over him as he pulls himself off. This time, he thinks, it’s justified to be imagining Louis while he does it, seeing as how he won’t be alone the next time he comes. It’s exhilarating and exciting and Harry’s spilling over his hand in no time at all, leaning against the tiled wall to catch his breath as he watches the evidence of his orgasm wash down the drain.

By the time Harry steps out of the shower, scrubbed clean and slightly more relaxed after his wank, he just has enough time to dress himself before Louis’ set to arrive. It feels a little silly, he thinks, pulling on a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt knowing he’s only going to be stripping right back out of them, but it somehow seems inappropriate to answer the door in the nude, imminent sex or no.

Sure enough, there’s a sharp rap of knuckles against the front door at 10 AM on the dot. _Figures he’d choose today to be punctual for the first time in his life,_ Harry thinks to himself, shaking his head as he unlocks the door and pulls it open.

Louis is on the front stoop looking like the sun itself, like light and warmth and positively beaming at Harry. He’s freshly showered as well, his still damp hair curling the faintest bit where it brushes the back of his neck. It seems he and Harry had the same thoughts on attire, Louis similarly dressed in a loose vest and cut off grey joggers. He has a travel mug of tea in one hand and a Tesco bag in the other. “Morning!” he chirps, saluting Harry with his tea.

Harry steps aside to let the shorter boy inside, his heart pounding wildly against his ribcage. “Hi,” he manages, eyes fixed on the plastic sack hanging from Louis’ fingers. Knowing what’s inside, what those items are used for, suddenly makes everything feel real. They’re actually about to do this.

Twirling the bag absently, Louis rests his bum against the arm of the sofa as he sips his tea. “Niall’s party is next weekend. Should be pretty sick,” he says conversationally, seeming at ease where Harry isn’t even sure he’s capable of words.

“Yeah, should be great,” Harry chokes out, his voice unusually high and strained. Every year, their friend Niall has a huge house party to kick off the summer hols. His parents always leave town for the weekend, and it never fails to be the party of the year. “Erm, you want some tea, or something?” he asks, hoping to find something to do with his hands. His palms are sweaty and he feels a little sick to his stomach.

Louis blinks slowly at him before raising the mug in his hand. “I have tea, mate.” His sky blue eyes, today more stormy than clear, narrow as he takes a closer look at his best friend. “Harry, you all right? You’ve gone all pasty.”

“Mmm,” Harry replies eloquently, embarrassed that Louis has caught on to his panic.

The other boy’s face goes soft as he pushes off of the couch. Depositing his tea on a side table, Louis steps closer to Harry and takes one of Harry’s biceps in each of his hands. The hand previously holding the tea is warm while the other is ice cold, as usual. Harry focuses on the different sensations, trying to ground himself before he floats away. Or worse, faints.

“Harry,” Louis murmurs, and it’s so gentle, so sweet. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I won’t be upset.”

Shaking his head firmly, Harry lifts his arms to clasp Louis’ elbows, keeping him close but still at a safe distance. “No,” he says firmly, the shake of his head tossing his curls. “I want this, Lou. I want it to be you.” He takes a deep breath, the air between them seeming harder to breathe somehow, as if Harry’s panic and Louis’ worry have actually caused it to thicken.

Louis’ mouth is a tight line as he regards Harry. “Only if you’re sure, okay?” He says eventually, seeming satisfied that Harry is telling the truth. “Just think, if it’s this scary with me, how much scarier would it be with someone else?”

“I can’t imagine,” Harry admits, the ‘doing it with anyone else’ bit remaining unspoken.

Breaking into a wide grin, Louis gives Harry’s arms a squeeze before dropping his hands to his sides. “Well, I’m ready when you are,” he says cheerfully, retrieving the bag of supplies. Louis doesn’t seem the least bit nervous, all bright eyes and easy smiles. That’s all right; Harry’s probably nervous enough for the both of them.

The walk to Harry’s bedroom feels like it takes an eternity, the stairs stretching endlessly in front of Harry as he climbs. He focuses on his breathing, inhaling and exhaling with every other step. It has the opposite effect, however: instead of Harry’s breaths coming more evenly, his footsteps land irregularly. Louis follows close behind, a gentling hand finding the small of Harry’s back when the brunet nearly misses a step, and it feels like a thousand pinpricks of static are radiating from the touch.

Harry’s usually tidy room is even tidier for the occasion. He made sure to put fresh sheets on the bed and make it neatly. All of his laundry is put away (okay, stuffed into his closet, but it’s hidden at least) and he even lit a couple pillar candles for ambiance. It may just be a hookup, but dammit, Harry wants to lose his virginity in a room scented like Lavender Vanilla, so that’s what he’s going to do.

To his credit, Louis eyes the candles curiously but doesn’t comment, a rare occurrence from the shorter man. Instead, he flounces across the room and casually plops down on Harry’s bed, the navy blue of the duvet only accentuating the golden skin of Louis’ arms. He bends over to slip off first his shoes, then his socks, before reclining back on his elbows and searching for Harry’s gaze.

And fuck, does Louis look sexy like that, leaned back invitingly in Harry’s bed. Harry’s dreamt about this exact scenario dozens of times, yet here he is, still standing dumbly by the door. At the expectant lift of Louis’ eyebrows, he takes a deep breath and crosses to sit next to his friend on the mattress.

There’s an awkward few minutes where neither of them speak, sitting close enough to touch but not making a move. Harry doesn’t think he’s capable of initiating anything, and silently wills Louis to do something as he focuses on the place where their thighs are pressed together on the bed.

“So—”

“How—”

They both speak at the same time, chuckling to ease the tension. “You go,” Harry says, nudging Louis’ knee with his own.

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says, chewing at the inside of his cheek while he works out how to phrase his next question. “I was just wondering how you wanted to do this? Like…” He makes a couple vague hand gestures, but Harry gets the hint.

“Oh,” Harry replies, going even more red, if that’s at all possible. “Erm, I dunno. I hadn’t really thought about it.” Lies lies lies, but he isn’t about to tell Louis that.

Louis nods thoughtfully. “I mean, you’re really nervous, so I could be the, ah, bottom?” He offers, tripping over the words and not quite meeting Harry’s eyes.

A sigh of relief rushes out of Harry, his chest feeling less like it’s about to burst. Truth be told, he’d really like to try it the other way around, but with neither of them knowing what they’re doing, he is definitely anxious. Besides, the thought of being inside Louis is making his brain short circuit and it takes him a few beats to realise Louis is waiting for a response.

“Okay,” he says simply.

“Okay,” Louis repeats. One second he’s flashing Harry a dazzling smile, and the next his face is obscured as he strips his vest off over his head. It’s impossible for Harry to look away as Louis stands up to rid himself of his shorts, leaving him standing there with only a pair of boxers to keep him from being totally exposed.

Shifting from foot to foot, Louis runs his hands over his bare arms as he stands mostly nude in front of his best friend. “Well?” he asks, shivering despite the comfortable temperature of Harry’s bedroom. Whether it’s from nerves or excitement, Harry can’t tell.

Harry looks down at his own fully-clothed body. Louis has seen him naked loads of times. They’ve gone skinny dipping, dressed in the same locker room after P.E., casually changed in front of each other loads of times. But this time there is so much portent behind it, and Harry can’t quite bring himself to undress knowing what it means. His mouth is dry, his tongue coated in sandpaper as he asks, “Will you do it?”

Louis smiles, not his usual smirk but something softer. With one gentle nod, he’s stepping closer to Harry, nudging Harry’s knees apart so he can stand in between them. “Arms up, H,” Louis says softly, taking hold of the hem of Harry’s shirt. Harry raises his arms, allowing Louis to peel Harry’s t-shirt off carefully.

The air hitting Harry’s nipples causes them to tighten, a reminder that this is real, this is actually happening. He’s about to fuck his best mate.

His dick seems to have gotten the memo, tenting his basketball shorts. Harry tries to cover the traitorous bulge with his hands, but Louis knocks them away.

“Now’s not the time to be shy,” Louis says, gaze flicking from Harry’s crotch up to his wide eyes. “Lay back, love. Let me see you.”

Harry lets himself fall back on the bed, scooting enough to allow Louis more room beneath his thighs. Louis tucks his fingers into the waistband of Harry’s shorts, pulling them down his body with one swift tug and leaving Harry’s now raging hard-on barely concealed by the tight black briefs he’s wearing.

Louis kneels in the space between Harry’s legs on the bed, raising a tentative hand to hover over Harry’s bulge. “Can I?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

The end of that sentence is left ambiguous, but Harry doesn’t care. Whatever Louis asks of him, he’ll give. He utters a breathy ‘yes’ and then Louis’ hand is stroking his erection through the fabric of his pants, and Harry is so, so very glad he got himself off already today.

“Does it feel good?” Louis asks, his eyes fixed on Harry’s face as he sweeps his thumb over the damp spot where the head of Harry’s penis is leaking precome.

“Ngh,” Harry replies, incapable of proper speech. His mind is blissfully empty aside from the excruciating drag of Louis’ hand on his erection. If it feels this good through his briefs, he can’t imagine how good it will feel skin on skin.

Louis must have the same idea, because on the next stroke he slips Harry’s pants down and curls his fingers around Harry’s cock. Harry arches into the touch with a sharp intake of breath, Louis’ palm hot and dry against Harry’s dick. It feels so much different, better, than Harry touching himself, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from coming then and there.

He’s not going to make it to penetration, at this rate. Though if sex is half as good as this handjob, coming again won’t be an issue.

“Is… Would it be crossing a line if I kissed you?” Louis asks breathlessly, watching his hand stroking Harry’s dick with a kind of wonder in his eyes.

A bark of a laugh bursts out of Harry, morphing into a groan as Louis does this particularly nice thing with a twist of his hand. “Mate,” he pants, doing his best to smile up at the boy hovering over him. “Your hand is on my dick. I think we’ve already crossed any potential lines.”

Louis chuckles, and then he’s surging down to cover Harry’s lips with his own. At first it’s so much like that first kiss they shared years ago, cautious and clumsy, but then the tip of Louis’ tongue is prodding gently at the seam of Harry’s mouth, and he’s too surprised to do anything but open up to it.

He’s never french kissed anyone before; there’s another first Louis will have given him. It’s slick and strange, but also sort of nice, and it isn’t long before Harry is tentatively meeting Louis’ tongue lick for lick. It’s too much all at once, the stroke of Louis’ tongue in sync with the hand fisting Harry’s erection, and he doesn’t have time to utter a warning before he’s spilling over Louis’ fist with a shout lost inside his friend’s mouth.

“Sorry, sorry!” Harry gasps when Louis breaks the kiss, looking down at his hand in shock.

Louis doesn’t respond, just gives Harry a cheeky smirk before popping a finger into his mouth and sucking it clean.

And, yeah, getting hard again isn’t going to be a problem at all.

“Not as bad as I thought it’d be,” Louis says with a shrug, wiping the rest of the mess on Harry’s discarded shirt.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Harry gapes at Louis. “Did you really just _taste_ it?” He asks, his voice coming out rough and gritty. He sounds like he’s been proper fucked already. He isn’t sure if that speaks to Louis’ skill or his ability to be satisfied, but he isn’t complaining.

Louis shrugs, nonplussed despite having licked his best mate’s spunk off his hand. “This is a learning experience, right? I’m learning.”

“So, what happens now?” Harry asks, pushing up to sitting. He feels very naked all of a sudden, noticing Louis is still wearing his boxers. Louis’ arousal is clearly visible through the thin fabric, and it gives Harry a little thrill of pleasure to think: _I did that._

Louis grabs the Tesco bag from where he dumped it on the floor, pawing through it for the bottle of lube he’d purchased. He tosses it to Harry before plunking back down on the bed beside him. “Well, you have to…” He wiggles his fingers, seeming to stumble over the proper term. “Prep me? So it’s easier, you know?” Louis’ face is scarlet at having to say the words out loud. “Or I can do it myself, if you want.”

“No, no, I’ll do it,” Harry assures him, hoping he doesn’t sound too eager. He nods to the pillows at the top of the bed. “Get comfortable, yeah?”

Louis nods before scooting further onto the bed, leaning back against the pile of pillows Harry sleeps with. He looks good there, his chestnut hair fanned out around him like a halo.

Swallowing against the knot of anxiety climbing from his chest into his throat, Harry uncaps the bottle of lube and scoots between Louis’ spread legs. It takes him a minute of fighting with the safety seal, but finally he gets the thing open and is liberally drizzling the lubricant over his trembling fingers.

Harry nearly misses his hand entirely when Louis reaches down and shimmies out of his boxers, leaving him nude at last. Curving nicely over the slight swell of his stomach, Louis’ cock is flushed and hard. He can’t resist reaching out and dragging a finger down it from tip to root, earning a shuddery intake of breath from Louis.

With his lubed hand, Harry reaches down between Louis’ arse cheeks until his fingertip is brushing over the tight ring of muscle hidden there. The first touch makes them both gasp, Harry nearly pulling his hand away in surprise at the way Louis arches off the bed. They’re staring at each other, wide eyed and breathing heavily, when Harry swipes across Louis’ hole again, applying more pressure this time.

Harry’s done this to himself before, sure, but there’s something entirely different about seeing the effect his touch is having on the boy spread out beneath him. It’s intoxicating, really, watching Louis’ pupils slowly consume the blue of his irises until his eyes are dark with desire. He strokes again, and then again, until Louis is pushing into his touch so desperately that Harry’s finger slips inside before either of them realise it.

The breach makes Louis moan and clench his hands in the sheets, pushing back against the intrusion. He leans forward to see where Harry’s hand disappears between his thighs, jaw slack and eyes hooded.

Biting his lip, Harry keeps moving his finger in and out of Louis’ arse in gentle strokes. The heat seems to radiate up his hand and fill his entire body, concentrated in his groin. He’s never felt anything like this, so intimate, the way Louis is looking up at him with trust and desire.

Harry could get used to this, he thinks. Except he knows he doesn’t get to.

But now is not the time to think about things like that. Instead, he focuses on pressing a second finger in alongside the first, Louis’ body stretching to accommodate him easily.

“I’ve fingered myself before, Haz,” Louis reminds him breathlessly, flopping back down as Harry finally buries both fingers deep inside. “You don’t have to go so slow. I promise you won’t hurt me.”

He’s still afraid of accidentally causing Louis pain, but he trusts that his friend knows his own body. The next time Harry pushes his fingers in, he spreads them as he thrusts, increasing the stretch.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis groans, one hand finding its way to his leaking cock and gripping the base, as if he might come just from Harry’s fingers. “One more, please, I can take it.”

The tightness when Harry adds a third digit is incredible, bordering on uncomfortable. He can’t even begin to imagine what it will feel like around his dick. Harry knows he’s well-endowed, and this is the first time in his life that he thinks that might be a problem.

Louis’ body soon adjusts to the new addition, and he’s rocking his hips to meet Harry’s hand as he thrusts. “Try to hit my prostate,” Louis commands, awfully bossy for someone lying horizontal with three fingers in his arse.

Trying to remember what he read online, Harry crooks his fingers, searching for Louis’ spot. He knows exactly when he presses against it by the cry of, “Oh, _fuck,”_ ripping from Louis’ lips.

Pleased with himself, Harry strokes against Louis’ prostate again and again, memorising the way it feels under his fingertips, coaxing each breathy moan from Louis like he’s strumming the world’s finest guitar.

“Harry, please, I’m ready,” Louis begs, nothing short of squirming under Harry’s touch.

Harry isn’t sure _he’s_ ready, but the urgency in Louis’ voice has him leaning over the edge of the bed and fishing a condom out of the bag. The lube coating his fingers makes tearing the package open a bit of a challenge, but he finally manages to extract the condom and hesitantly roll it over his dick. It feels strange, and cool, and slimy, but his cock throbs at even the brief contact of his hand. Grabbing the lube again, he pours more into his palm and generously coats himself with it. He probably goes a bit overboard, but he also doesn’t want to risk hurting Louis.

“Do you want to get on your knees?” Harry suggests, shivering as he strokes himself once more to test the slide against his palm.

“Yeah, okay,” Louis agrees quickly, flipping himself over and presenting his bum.

The sight nearly takes Harry’s breath away. It’s no secret that Louis possesses a magnificent arse, but to see it like this, glistening with lube, Louis’ rim red and wet from Harry fingering him, is something else entirely. He wants to bury his face between Louis’ cheeks and lick and lick and lick until Louis is screaming his name, but he also really wants to give in to the ‘please, please, please’ Louis is mouthing into the fabric of the pillow beneath his face.

The second option wins out in the end, Harry rising up on his knees and using a hand to guide himself into the cleft of Louis’ arse. His head is nudging against the tight ring of muscle and there’s no way it’s going to fit, but he eases forward as Louis presses back and suddenly the head of his cock is encased in heat.

“Oh, my god,” Louis moans, reaching a hand back to press against Harry’s thigh, keeping him from pushing in any further. “Give me a minute. God.”

Harry’s eyes are wide as he covers Louis’ hand with his own, stroking a thumb over it comfortingly. “Are you okay? Am I doing something wrong?” _Shit shit shit,_ he panics to himself. _Leave it to me to fuck up Louis’ first time._

Louis shakes his head, his fringe sticking to his forehead with sweat. “No, it just hurts a bit,” he says, taking slow, steady breaths. “You’re a bit big, love.” Louis manages a smile and drops his hand with a squeeze of Harry’s thigh. “All right, you can keep going.”

They go on like that, Harry pressing in until Louis pushes against his thigh, Harry checking on his friend and Louis promising that ‘it’s good, it’s so good,’ until Harry’s hips are flush with Louis’ arse. The feeling of being inside Louis—of being totally connected with someone—is indescribable, and has Harry’s muscles already clenching in preparation for his third orgasm of the day. When Louis tells him to start moving, he knows he isn’t going to last long. The slick drag combined with the scorching heat is enough to make Harry’s vision blur around the edges. He briefly wonders if you can pass out from coming too hard, and hopes he isn’t about to find out.

The slow, careful thrusts gradually grow more and more confident as Harry gets used to the motion, finding a rhythm and rocking his hips against Louis’ arse. Each movement has the most delicious sounds spilling from Louis’ mouth, a mix of words and moans that sounds like the language angels must speak. Placing a large hand across the dip in Louis’ lower back, Harry angles the next thrust carefully. His aim is true if the guttural groan filling the air is anything to go by, Louis reaching forward to brace himself against the headboard as Harry slams into his prostate again and again.

“I’m so close, babe,” Harry pants, amazed he’s lasted this long. He folds himself over Louis’ body, caging the smaller man in with his arms and dragging his lips along the dewy skin of Louis’ shoulder.

“Me too,” Louis all but whines, rolling his hips in a way that has Harry’s thighs trembling. “So fucking close.”

And he isn’t exaggerating. Harry barely gets a hand on Louis’ dick before his friend is coming, warm, thick spurts coating Harry’s fist. Harry can feel it when Louis comes, feel his hole clench and the strong, steady throb deep inside. With a couple more weak thrusts, he follows Louis over the edge, filling up the condom and bonelessly collapsing onto the boy beneath him.

It takes a moment for Harry to catch his breath, but then he carefully eases himself out of Louis and strips the used condom off his sensitive prick. He drops it into the bin next to his bed and then stills, uncertain what the rules are from here. Are they allowed to cuddle? Kiss? Should Harry get out of bed and go take a shower, or offer one to Louis? Maybe they can take one together, wash the traces of sex from each other’s bodies and maybe see what all the fuss is about fucking in the shower.

Harry’s just decided to lie down, curl close to Louis and maybe talk about the experience they just shared, but Louis has other plans. The smaller man, still flushing and sweaty, ducks beneath Harry to climb out of the bed and immediately begins searching for his shorts.

“Where are you going?” Harry asks, as Louis trips in his haste to dress and nearly falls over.

Finally getting his bottoms on and looking around for his vest, Louis makes eye contact with Harry for the first time since their little romp. His pupils are still large, the pink of his cheeks and ears making his eyes seem even more blue than usual. “Erm, home. Mum has the afternoon shift and I promised I’d watch the girls.”

Harry wants to protest, wants to beg Louis not to let this make things weird between them. Instead, what he asks is, “Was I okay?” He doesn’t mean for his voice to sound so fragile.

Louis pauses in his search for his vest, turning to look at Harry curiously. The frantic look in his eyes softens as he steps to the bed, cupping Harry’s cheek in his warm palm. “You were brilliant, Haz. I’m so glad that it was you.”

The gentleness in Louis’ voice combined with those words has Harry’s heart inflating, his chest too full with how much he cares for his friend. Too much, he realises—what he had considered a crush for so long having evolved into something bigger as the years passed. He hadn’t noticed, just kept tamping down the feelings same as always, but now here they are staring him in the face. And, yeah, definitely not just a crush anymore.

But then everything comes crashing down with the next sentence that passes Louis’ kiss-bruised lips.

“It’s nice to have the awkward first time out of the way,” Louis continues, finally spying his vest half under the bed and pulling it over his head, “so it will be even better when it actually matters.”

The words punch all the hope out of Harry’s lungs, deflating him like a balloon someone let go without tying the end first. Now fully dressed, Louis gives a cheerful wave and a ‘text me later, yeah?’ before he slips out of Harry’s room.

Stunned and alone, Harry curls up in the sheets. Louis’ scent, musky and sweet, lingers in them, combined with the fragrant aroma drifting from the candle on the nightstand. He watches the flickering flame with itchy eyes, willing himself not to cry. There’s nothing to cry over, after all. He had gone into this knowing what it was, and if he attached more to it than was intended, then it’s his own fault.

Still, Louis’ words reverberate in his pounding skull like ping pong balls. _When it actually matters._

It had mattered. It does. It might have been his first time, but Harry knows he felt something there that wasn’t before. Some small seed that, if carefully tended, would blossom into something beautiful.

 _When it actually matters._ If that’s how Louis really feels, though, then there’s nothing Harry can do about it. He respects their friendship too much to ruin it with his baggage.

Unreasonably bitter, Harry blows out the candle and lets himself drift off to sleep, still surrounded by the smell of sex and Louis. He’ll have to wash his sheets before his mum gets home, and take a shower, but for now he closes his eyes tight against the tears and tries not to dwell on why it feels like he’s just been punched in the gut. He had heard that losing your virginity could hurt. He never expected it to hurt like this.

❦

If Harry thought that losing his virginity was going to be some kind of life altering experience, he was sorely mistaken.

The days come and go like they always do, no richer or fuller despite his ‘sexual awakening,’ or whatever. He sits around the house in his pants watching telly, eating snacks and savouring the final summer break he has before starting uni in the fall. It’s quite lovely, actually. His mum and stepdad work days so he has the house to himself, his sister having stayed at uni to do an internship.

The only thing missing from his life, really, is Louis.

They’ve exchanged a few text messages since _that day,_ as Harry’s come to think of it, but certainly less than usual. And they haven’t seen each other in days, which is quite out of the ordinary considering they’ve lived in each other’s pockets for the past ten years.

Harry tries to tell himself it has nothing to do with the fact that they slept together, that their friendship is as solid as ever, but his heart doesn’t quite buy it.

He wakes up the next Friday to the buzz of his mobile, the vibration loud against the wood of his bedside table. He has a text from Liam and a couple Twitter notifications, but nothing from Louis. Harry tries not to frown at that as he opens up the conversation with Liam.

_hey were meeting for a booze run before the party, u in?_

It’s the day of Niall Horan’s annual summer party. This one promises to be the biggest and best yet, celebrating the fact that they’ve all finished sixth form and are headed to various universities come autumn. And, Harry adds to himself, Louis is sure to be there.

 _Sounds great, pick me up at 8?_ he replies, tossing his phone back onto the table when he gets a thumbs up emoji from Liam shortly after. He thinks about texting Louis, asking if he wants to hang out, but decides against it. Louis clearly has his reasons for keeping his distance, and it’s not like Harry won’t be seeing him in a few hours anyway.

Smiling to himself, looking forward to the night ahead, Harry drags himself out of bed and off to shower, immensely excited to see his best friend again.

Except, Louis is nowhere to be found.

Liam is honking outside the house at just past 8, his beat up sedan idling hard next to the kerb.

“Bye, Mum, love you!” Harry shouts on his way out the door, barely giving her time to call out a ‘be careful’ before he lets himself out into the warm summer night.

Harry pulls open the back door closest to him and flops down on the ripped backseat, grinning as he takes inventory of the other passengers. His smile falls short when he realises who’s missing.

“Erm, where’s Niall and Louis?” he asks in what he hopes passes for nonchalance.

Zayn twists around in the passenger seat, offering his fist for Harry to bump his knuckles against. “Good to see you too, you wanker,” he laughs as he turns back to the front.

Blushing at Zayn’s remark, Harry fastens his seatbelt and folds his hands into his lap. “Sorry, sorry. It’s good to see you boys,” he says truthfully. “I just thought everyone would be coming, that’s all.”

“Ni is at his place, getting everything set up,” Zayn explains, hanging his long, muscled brown arm out the window and tracing patterns in the night air. “I know what he wants, though.”

Harry can’t help but smile at that. Niall and Zayn are the kind of couple that make you believe in romance. They’re sweet and affectionate without being over the top, and everyone knows they are that pair who are going to be together forever. It had been a bit of a shock, at first, to find out that the fears Harry had been harbouring about revealing his own sexuality were all for nothing, but ultimately Niall and Zayn coming out had given Louis the courage to come out, followed shortly by Harry. They all joke between them that it’s Liam’s turn next, but he brushes them off with a laugh and a dopey smile.

Speaking of Liam, the boy in question meets Harry’s eyes in the rearview mirror. They’re big and brown, and even without being able to see Liam’s mouth, Harry can tell he’s grinning. “Louis said he had something to do, but that he’ll definitely see us at the party,” the brunet explains, flicking his eyes from the mirror and back to the road. “Honestly, we thought he’d be with you.”

 _Me too,_ Harry thinks sadly, slumping further into the seat. It gives him hope, though: If Louis is avoiding the other boys as well, maybe he really has just been busy lately.

It’s not long until Liam is parking the car outside of Tesco, the three boys clambering out and slamming creaky doors behind them. Harry grabs a shopping trolley and leads the way to the liquor aisle, determined not to let his churning mind spoil his evening. _Louis will be there, you’ll see him soon,_ he reminds himself as he adds several cans of various Smirnoff flavours to the trolley.

Zayn snatches one up, eyeing it disdainfully. “Smirnoff Cosmo, Haz? Really?” he asks, wiggling the can at Harry. “When are you going to start drinking _real_ alcohol?”

Harry grabs the drink back, his cheeks as pink as the label on the can. “It tastes good,” he mutters, tossing it into the trolley once more. “If I’m going to drink, I want to enjoy it.” Still, he grabs a case of Louis’ favourite beer off the shelf and places it amongst his selection. Zayn seems satisfied as he piles in several bottles of spirits and a few cases of Niall’s preferred beer. Liam, not much of a drinker, meekly adds a case of cola to the pile. He’s got something wrong with one of his kidneys (“so he claims,” Louis would say, rolling his eyes) and always volunteers for the job of getting everyone home safely after the party instead of drinking.

Once they’ve made their way to the till, the cashier only looking mildly judgmental at the sheer volume of alcohol they’re purchasing, it’s nearly 9 PM and time to head to Niall’s. The party officially starts at 10, but the group of friends have a ritual of pre-drinking beforehand, just the five of them. It’s their own little celebration before the festivities, just as it’s the five of them fighting off their hangovers together the next day.

“Honey, we’re home!” Zayn calls, laughter in his voice as he pushes through the front door. The Horan residence is two stories tall, the cozy brick facade giving way to spotless white walls and warm oak flooring. A curved staircase blanketed in a plush red runner sits just inside the entryway, leading upstairs to the bedrooms.

“In here!” Niall’s voice calls from somewhere across the house. After pausing to toe off their shoes next to the door, the trio hefts their purchases and wanders through the airy family room in search of their host.

They find Niall in the kitchen, a row of shot glasses already lining the worktop and filled with some bright red concoction. The rest of the granite counter is covered in bottles of all shapes and sizes, with varying amounts of liquid still inside. A large stack of plastic cups sits nearby, along with a black marker for each guest to mark their name on their cup.

Niall grins as he slams the silver cocktail shaker in his hand down on the worktop, the motion causing the row of shots to jump slightly. “‘Bout time you lot got here!” he crows, filling a second row of shot glasses with the latest creation from the shaker, this one a bright turquoise. “I thought I was gonna have to take all of these meself!”

With a fond chuckle, Zayn dumps his shopping bags on the breakfast bar and slides around the other side to join his boyfriend, pressing a playful kiss to the blond’s cheek. “Don’t sound like you’d be even remotely upset about that, love,” Zayn teases, one slender brown arm snaking around Niall’s waist. “Drinking people under the table is your favourite thing to do.”

 _“You’re_ my favourite thing to do,” Niall corrects him, kissing the tip of Zayn’s nose. “But drinking is a damn close second.” He picks up a glass from the first row of shots. “Well, lads? Shall we?”

They all grab a drink, tiny glasses nearly to their lips, when Harry sets his back down in a hurry. “Wait, hold on a minute.” His eyes fall on the fifth red shot, sitting untouched on the dark granite. “Where’s Louis?”

The other three boys blink at each other, suddenly noting the absence of a certain loud, blue-eyed boy.

“I don’t know,” Niall admits, reluctantly lowering his drink next to Harry’s. “I assumed he’d be with you guys.”

Liam’s eyebrows nearly meet above his nose as he frowns. “I think we were expecting him to meet us here. No one’s heard from him?”

Gnawing at the inside of his cheek, Harry slips his hand into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve his mobile. There’s nothing when he unlocks the screen, not a missed call or a text giving any clue to Louis’ whereabouts. “This is bizarre,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Louis’ never missed this party.” He can’t help the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that maybe, somehow, he’s responsible for Louis going ghost. _Was I that awful that he can’t stand to be around me?_

“Speak of the devil,” Zayn announces, holding up his mobile. “Lou just texted. He says he got caught up, but he’ll be here in time for the party to start.” Unfazed by the fact that their group is a man down, Zayn slides one of the leftover shots over to Niall. “Bottoms up, babe, you’re drinking for two tonight.”

As Niall laughs and happily downs both his shots and the ones meant for Louis, Harry can’t help but stare sadly at his silent phone. He’s always been the first person Louis goes to. They’re all close, the five of them, but Harry and Louis are, well, Harry and Louis. They’re a packaged deal. Between not seeing Louis in nearly a week, and then Louis texting Zayn before him, Harry rather feels like he’s been missing a piece of himself.

“Harry, mate, you all right?” Liam asks, raising a bushy eyebrow.

Harry snaps out of his thoughts, eyes focusing on the two colourful shots left on the worktop amongst the sea of empty glasses. “Yeah, fine,” he lies, taking one in each hand and tossing them back before he has time to dwell any further. The warmth burning down his throat and settling in his belly doesn’t quite dissolve the stone that seems to be sitting there, but it’s a good start.

❦

Midnight comes and goes, and there’s still no sign of Louis.

Harry isn’t moping. He’s not. He’s sitting on a couch in the lounge, feet tucked underneath him as he sips on a can of Smirnoff. The party rages in full swing around him, laughter and music filling the air, the bass seeming to give the house a pulse of its own. Most people are gathered in the garden, stars and fairylights twinkling overhead as their friends and former classmates dance and drink without a care in the world.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting from this party, but this isn’t it. He had pictured Louis being ecstatic to see him, having missed Harry just as much. They’d down drink after drink and end up cuddled together somewhere, young and alive and brave with the alcohol flowing through their veins. Maybe Harry would even be brave enough to kiss Louis, to tell him how he feels. Maybe Louis would say it first, even.

But there will be no heartfelt confessions if there isn’t a Louis to confess to. Finishing his drink with a sigh, Harry crumples the can and tosses it across the room. The can barely hits the ground before he regrets throwing it, unfolding himself from the sofa to retrieve it and take it to the recycling bin in the kitchen.

The worktop is still covered in bottles, though there are quite a few more empty ones that there were before the party. The stack of plastic cups is nearly gone, as is the black marker (most likely being used to draw on whoever is unlucky enough to pass out first). Harry chucks the empty can in the bin and crosses to the fridge, tugging it open and glancing at what’s left of his provisions. The case of Louis’ favourite beer is still on the shelf, untouched, flanked by his dwindling assortment of Smirnoffs. He reaches for a Cosmo when a voice behind him makes him nearly jump out of his skin.

“Still no sign of Tommo, then?”

Harry spins around to be met with Liam’s concerned face, brows furrowed and eyes sad. He has a soda in one hand and a bag of rubbish in the other, like he’s been cleaning up after the guests so there’s less to be done the next day.

“Not yet,” Harry says forlornly, letting the fridge door swing closed without taking a beverage. “No one’s heard from him?”

Tying off the bag in his hand, Liam sets it next to the bin with a shrug of his shoulders. “I haven’t heard anything from him in a while, actually. It’s not like him.” He tilts his head at Harry like a curious dog. “Is everything all right with him? He tells you more than anybody.

Something twists in Harry’s stomach at Liam’s words. _Used to, anyway._ “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t heard from him either,” he says, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Liam opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by a very drunk, nearly naked Niall stumbling into the room, mouth stretched wide in laughter and a half-empty cup clutched in one hand. Zayn isn’t far behind, both boys grabbing each other’s arms to keep themselves steady.

“What are you doing in here? Party’s outside!” Zayn says with a grin, leaning against the breakfast bar and pulling Niall into him. The blond comes easily, too sloshed to resist, and tucks himself under Zayn’s arm.

Harry shrugs, eyes falling to the tiled floor. “Doesn’t feel much like a party without Louis here,” he replies sadly.

“Louis? He’s here!” Niall says in a near shout, reaching around Zayn for a bottle of rum. “Last I saw he was going upstairs, said something about needing to lie down.”

“What, really?” Harry asks, watching Niall trying to unscrew the cap. “Where was I?” He isn’t sure if he’s glad that Louis came, or hurt that his friend is seemingly avoiding him. Some of both, he decides.

Zayn tugs the bottle from Niall’s grasp and twists the top off easily. “I think that was about the time Niall drug you outside to ask what phase the moon is in.”

“Gibberish!” Niall says brightly.

“Gibbous,” Harry corrects with a fond roll of his eyes. He pulls the fridge open once more and grabs one of the beers he bought for Louis. “I’m going to go see if I can find Lou. Keep an eye on these two?” Harry says to Liam, tilting his head at the couple. Niall has forgone the cup and is drinking straight from the bottle, Zayn giggling into his shoulder with flushed cheeks. They manage to be adorable even when they’re both annoyingly drunk.

Knowing that his friends are in good hands, Harry makes his way through the mostly empty house. Here and there someone is curled up on the floor or snogging in a corner, but the majority of the guests are outside. Sidestepping a pile of clothes (including someone’s pants, yikes), Harry heads up the wide staircase, feeling more optimistic than he has in days. Louis’ here, and they can talk, and everything will go back to normal.

The stairs lead up to a spacious landing, four doors leading off to the home’s four bedrooms. One belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Horan, one to Niall’s older brother, Greg, one to Niall, and one is the guest room. That’s the door Harry approaches, the sweating beer swinging from his hand with each stride. Who knows, maybe Louis will be so happy to see him after their time apart that he’ll tug Harry onto the bed for a cuddle, or a kiss, or…

Harry shakes his head, resolving not to get his hopes up. Merely seeing his best friend will be enough, it has to be, so it’s with a bright smile and Louis’ name rolling from his tongue that he swings the door open.

Louis is in the bed, just as Harry expected. What he didn’t expect, however, was the naked bloke on top of Louis, the sounds and movements from the pair leaving little doubt in Harry’s mind what he walked in on.

The bottle slides from Harry’s fingers and hits the carpet with a _thud,_ the sound making a pair of startled blue eyes snap up to meet his. Louis’ fringe, previously pushed back in a quiff, has wilted over his forehead and hangs in dampened locks over one eye. “Ha- Harry,” Louis pants, panic contorting his features. The other boy either doesn’t notice Harry or doesn’t care, his face still buried in the golden skin of Louis’ back.

“Oops,” Harry chokes out, trying to stop the tears from spilling over. He takes a step backward out of the room, shutting the door too hard behind him, before fleeing back down the stairs. His throat is tight and each smack of his feet on the steps jars the air from his heavy chest, eyes all but closed as if he can keep what he saw from playing through his mind on repeat.

He finds himself out on the front porch before he realises it, hauling in deep breaths of the warm air like it will thaw the ice in his veins. Harry has no reason to be upset. He knew that what happened between him and Louis was a one-off, that it meant nothing, that Louis had gone into it intending to put that knowledge to use elsewhere.

Except it _had_ meant something, and it fucking _hurt._ Harry wanted to be more than Louis’ first. He wanted to be Louis’ only. With a strangled cry, he sits down heavily on the steps leading up to the house, burying his face in clammy hands and letting the tears fall. He was stupid, so stupid, for thinking that he might actually get to keep Louis. Louis is like the sun, pulling everything and everyone around him into orbit, and Harry is just another satellite that got caught up in his gravity. Why would Louis settle for him when he has an entire galaxy to choose from?

Swallowing hard against the bile rising in his throat, Harry tilts his head back and glares up at the 'gibberish' moon, an imperfect circle small and almost blurry in the blue-black of the Doncaster sky. It looks lumpy and misshapen, like a piece of it is missing, and with a rueful chuckle Harry thinks his satellite metaphor is more accurate than he first intended.

The rest of the party is a blur. Harry stays out on the porch, listening to the sounds of revelry spilling from the back garden. As the night goes on, people start to stumble out the front door to their respective vehicles, girls with bare feet clutching their high heels and holding on to boys with beer stains on their jeans. Liam comes out at some point to drive some of the more inebriated party-goers home, but Harry brushes off any attempts at conversation. He’s afraid of what he might say if he starts talking, probably something along the lines of, “Louis and I fucked just for fun but I’m actually in love with him and now our friendship might be over.”

It all comes down to Harry being weak, Harry being selfish, and it’s going to be his fault if this ends up tearing their group apart. So he waves Liam off, forces a watery smile, determined not to ruin this night for anyone else. He lets his eyes drift closed as he leans against the stone columns flanking the porch, unable to rid his mind of piercing blue eyes and the way his name had sounded spilling from the lips of a gasping mouth.

❦

The next time Harry opens his eyes, he scrunches them back closed as quickly as possible against the daylight streaming through the floor to ceiling windows. Someone must have moved him during the night, because now there’s a drool-soaked pillow underneath his cheek instead of the stone column. He’s on a sofa in the lounge that he’s far too long for, legs dangling over the arm. His shoes have been pulled off but otherwise he’s fully dressed, and the pounding in his head is a good indicator of how much he had to drink last night.

“Morning, sunshine,” a soft voice whispers from somewhere to Harry’s left.

Harry pushes himself up with a groan. Liam is sat on the loveseat flanking the sofa, a mug clasped between his hands. The smell of coffee lingers in the air, like Liam had just made a fresh pot before Harry woke up.

“Morning,” Harry replies, his voice raspy and low. He rubs at his temple, trying to fend off the throbbing ache in his skull. “Anyone else up yet?”

Liam shakes his head, his short brown hair grazing his forehead with the motion. “No, Niall and Zayn stayed up later than any of us, and I haven’t seen Louis since he walked his friend out last night.”

The mention of Louis’ name makes Harry wince. It all comes back to him in a rush: skin on skin, grunts and moans, a body pressing into Louis that didn’t belong to Harry. He suddenly feels nauseated, clutching at his stomach and closing his eyes tightly against images he can’t seem to stop remembering.

“You okay, mate? You’ve gone a little green.” Liam’s worried voice is a welcome respite from his thoughts. His friend’s brown eyes are fixed on him, large with concern.

Harry manages a weak smile, swallowing against the urge to vomit. “I’m fine. Just need something greasy, I think.” He nods his head toward the kitchen. “I’m going to go get started on breakfast. Err, lunch,” he amends, checking his mobile to see it’s nearly noon.

The morning after is as much a tradition as the party itself. All the other guests would be gone, leaving the five friends to nurse their hangovers and help Niall tidy the house. They used to eat cold pizza, stashed away the night before, but as they’ve gotten older, Harry’s made it a habit to cook breakfast. That’s what he’s doing when Zayn and Niall pad into the kitchen, pyjama bottoms slung low on their hips and love bites littering their collarbones.

“Someone had a fun night,” Harry remarks, glancing up from the eggs he’s frying.

Niall giggles, turning his face to hide in the crook of Zayn’s neck. Zayn just grins, leaning his cheek into the mess of blond hair as swipes a piece of toast from the plate on the breakfast bar. “It’s our party, we can fuck if we want to,” he says through a mouthful of toast, Niall laughing even harder against his tawny skin.

With a roll of his eyes, Harry resumes cooking the eggs, biting back a smile all the while. No matter how pitiful he feels at the moment, it’s impossible to be entirely sad when two of his best friends are so happy together. They had given Harry hope, once upon a time, that it was possible to fall in love with your best friend and have it end happily ever after. He’s beginning to realise that Niall and Zayn are the exception, not the rule, and maybe there’s not enough fairy tale romance to go around.

Harry’s just finished putting eggs on the five plates lining the worktop when they hear footsteps coming from the family room. Right on cue, a head of messy caramel hair pops around the door frame, large bags under blue eyes and pillow lines still streaking golden cheeks. “Haven’t missed breakfast, have I?” Louis asks, his voice soft and high, almost a purr. It fits, Harry thinks, the way Louis looks like a large, sleepy cat in the mornings, rubbing his tired eyes with a hand hidden inside the long sleeves of his shirt.

It’s silent for too long when it clicks that Louis was asking a question and the other lads had waited for Harry to answer him. He opens his mouth but it’s too late, Liam is already speaking for him with a confused glance between the two friends. “No, just in time. Harry’s just finishing up.”

They make eye contact, clear blue meeting cautious green, and Harry feels like he’s the verdant bank of a river getting washed further and further away with each lick of the rushing waters. He bites his lip and tears his eyes away, unprepared to let Louis erode him any further. Instead, he busies himself with fixing four mugs of tea, Liam choosing to stick with his coffee.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Louis slide into the stool at the end of the bar, pulling a plate toward him and inhaling deeply. “Excellent, I’d never forgive myself if I missed a Styles fry up,” he says, eagerly tucking in to the still steaming eggs.

Harry wants to scream at him, grab his shoulders and ask if he realises this is the most they’ve interacted in a week. But he doesn’t, just keeps his face carefully blank as he fixes Louis’ tea just the way he likes it. He tries not to wonder too hard if the man from last night knows how Louis takes his tea.

The kitchen is soon filled with the sound of silverware on plates, mugs being lifted and set down, happy sighs as plates are emptied. The neck of Louis’ shirt slides down his shoulder as he reaches for the salt, Harry’s eyes catching on a mark too faded to be from last night. _Good,_ he thinks, something possessive curling in his gut. He hopes the man from last night saw it, knows that he wasn’t Louis’ first and never would be. That belongs to Harry alone.

He immediately feels guilty, dropping his eyes to his own half-eaten breakfast. Louis doesn’t belong to anyone, let alone Harry, and Harry has no right to be punishing him for having a bit of fun. It hurts, and it sucks that it isn’t Harry, but in the end, he has to be happy for whatever path Louis chooses.

At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

When the plates are empty and the other lads are climbing off their stools, rubbing their full bellies, Harry reaches out and grabs hold of Louis’ arm before he can follow them to the lounge. “Lou? Want to help me with the washing up?”

Something flickers in Louis’ eyes, but it’s gone just as fast, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile that would probably fool anyone else. “Sure, Haz,” he says, stacking the plates and carrying them to the dishwasher in the little utility room just off the kitchen. Harry gathers the mugs and follows, absolutely not admiring the way Louis’ arse fills out his joggers and the hems drag the ground, nearly obscuring his bare feet from view.

Once the dishes are stacked in the dishwasher and the worktop is wiped down, Harry throws the tea towel down and leans against the fridge, crossing his arms. “So,” he says, conversationally.

Louis has a fresh mug of tea between his sleeve-covered hands, tendrils of steam curling up and over the rim. He glances up from blowing across the brown liquid, eyebrows arched inquisitively. “So?”

“Didn’t see you much last week.”

“Yeah, I was busy, sorry,” Louis replies, eyes back down.

Harry _hmmphs_ softly. “Didn’t see you much last night, either.”

The knuckles on Louis’ hand go white as he clenches the mug. “What’s this about, Harry?” he asks, sounding quite put-upon.

“Just missed my best friend, that’s all,” Harry says, shrugging so hard that he dislodges a sunflower-shaped magnet from the side of the fridge. Flushing at the loud noise it makes when it clatters to the tile, Harry hurriedly ducks down and puts it back where it belongs. “I also thought you would have told me if you were seeing somebody,” he mumbles, wincing to himself at how sullen he sounds.

When he chances a look, Louis’ eyes are trained on him, soft and clear in the bright light of the kitchen. “Is this about last night?” Louis asks, his voice as gentle as his expression. At Harry’s nod, he continues: “I’m not seeing anybody, you twat. I was just having a bit of fun, that’s all.”

Without his permission, Harry’s heart practically climbs into his throat at Louis’ words. _A bit of fun. Not seeing anybody._ To Harry, that sounds an awful lot like he still has hope. Which is ridiculous. Of course he doesn’t. But, if nothing else, it means he doesn’t have to share his best friend just yet. He steps over to the breakfast bar and reaches across it to wrap a large hand around Louis’ forearm. “Just don’t forget to make time for me, okay? I’m going to miss you so much when we go off to uni.” He takes a deep breath before he meets Louis’ gaze. “I don’t want things to be weird between us. I hated not seeing you all week.”

Louis’ lips tilt into a sad smile as he covers Harry’s hand with his own, still warm from his mug. “Things won’t be weird, Haz. I’m sorry.” He gives a gentle squeeze before pulling his hand away. “I’ll make sure that I have time for you. We’re going to have a great summer, just you watch.”

❦

In Harry’s opinion, it’s a terrible summer.

It has its good moments, sure. Streaking with Niall across the school football pitch at midnight while Zayn cheers them on; driving through town with Liam, windows down and stereo up; the three of them sprawled on a blanket in Niall’s backyard, planning their futures and promising to keep in touch.

Louis’ absence is like a wound in their group, never healing and only opening wider each time Louis begs off their get-togethers. He gets a summer job to save money, but even when they try to work around his schedule it seems like he has to watch his sisters, or he doesn’t feel well, or he has other plans.

‘Other plans,’ more often than not, means ‘hanging around with really fit blokes.’ When Louis does show up to one of their outings, he nearly always has some variety of arm candy in tow. He brings Ben to the pub when they go out to celebrate their A level results. Kyle, a beefy blond, accompanies them to the cinema to see the new Batman film. When Liam invites everyone over to his for a FIFA tournament, Louis doesn’t hesitate to ask if James can come. It’s as if sleeping with Harry has turned Louis into a beacon for every available bloke in Yorkshire, and he’s determined to hook up with as many of them as possible before the summer’s out.

(Or he got a grindr account. That’s far more likely.)

It’s so confusing, is the thing. On the one hand, Harry feels like he was merely the first in a long line of meaningless shags, and that is a terrible feeling. On the other, each boy that doesn’t last long feeds the hope curled up in his chest, as if every lad who doesn’t stack up is one closer to Louis realising that the perfect guy is right under his nose.

But new boys keep coming round, and Harry folds in on himself more and more each day. The other lads have noticed, have all tried talking to him about it, but he just pastes on a smile and swears that he’s fine. They leave it at that, even if Harry does catch Liam giving Louis a stern talking to after Louis ignores them all night for the flavour of the week. It’s pathetic, but Harry’s just happy to have his best mate around, even if he can’t have him to himself.

The days turn into weeks, a blur of muggy days and laughter, the time passing faster and faster  as the months wear on. All too soon, the five of them will be splitting up for uni, or work, or to go traveling, and then these golden days will be the last they have together, at least for awhile. As much as it hurts, Harry is determined not to let those days tarnish just because of a string of boys.

It’s with that determination in mind that Harry announces one day, as they’re laying out on grass after a quick game of footie, “We should do something, just the five of us.”

He casts a meaningful gaze at Louis, who’s walking Sean back to his vehicle. _At least this one was good for something,_ Harry thinks sourly, the bloke’s presence allowing them to have even teams.

Zayn lifts his head from where it’s resting on Niall’s stomach, shielding his eyes from the sun to look at Harry. “We’ve done something nearly every day, mate. What did you have in mind?”

“Erm, haven’t actually got that far,” Harry mutters, ducking his head.

To his right, Liam sits up, blades of grass clinging to his bared arms. “We could go camping!” he offers, excitement flickering in the brown of his eyes.

“What about camping?” Louis asks, finally back from seeing Sean off. He plops down heavily next to Niall, stealing the Irish lad’s sunglasses and putting them on his own face despite Niall’s protests.

“Haz wants to go on a camping trip,” Liam explains enthusiastically. Harry can practically see the man making mental lists of supplies and equipment. Always prepared, Liam.

At the mention of his name, Louis’ eyes flick to Harry before settling back on Liam, the movement barely noticeable behind the tinted lenses of the sunglasses. “Oh. All right,” he says easily, a hint of trepidation in his voice.

Niall finally sits up, snatching the aforementioned glasses back from Louis. “Just the five of us, too. Proper bonding time and all that.” He gives Louis a sidelong look, wagging a finger in the slighter man’s direction. “That means no dates, Romeo.”

A scoff accompanies Louis’ dramatic eye roll. “Wouldn’t call them dates, exactly,” he mutters, tugging up a fistful of grass. He pauses, the uprooted blades drifting from his open hand. “Hey, that’s not fair,” Louis complains, pouting over at Niall and Zayn. “You get to bring _your_ date!”

With a laugh, Niall slips an arm around Zayn’s back and pulls his boyfriend close. “Not our fault we started out as friends!” Niall says, slapping his knee with his free hand.

“Yeah, Lou, you could do the same. Harry and Liam are both single,” Zayn chimes in, almond-shaped eyes turned into happy slits from laughter.

Liam chuckles right along with them, but Harry goes beet red as all the colour drains from Louis’ face. They both manage a nervous chuckle, a beat too late, but Louis doesn’t look at Harry the rest of the night and Harry wills himself not to cry. Not until he gets home at least.

❦

The weekend of their camping trip arrives in a flurry of last minute shopping trips and group texts, everyone checking (and Liam double-checking) that they have everything they’ll need. They’ve decided to travel to a campsite in Lincolnshire. There are some closer, but, to the lads’ dismay, all either had an age limit, a restriction on same-sex groups, or prohibited campfires. (“What is the bloody _point,_ even?” Niall had cried at that bit of information.)

The campsite they end up choosing, The Three Horseshoes, is situated directly behind a pub of the same name. They can have a fire, bring their own alcohol, and pop over to the pub if they get tired of cooking. Liam booked the two pitches furthest away from the rest of the camp, and now two carloads of boys and gear are cruising down M180. Harry is sitting in the front seat of Liam’s car, radio blaring. Zayn, Niall, and Louis are just behind them, Louis probably still pouting at Harry for calling the front seat of Liam’s car and leaving Louis with the back in either vehicle. Harry can picture him now, curled up next to the cool box and sulking in the rearview mirror, Zayn and Niall making eyes at each other and holding hands over the centre console.

Harry looks down at Liam’s free hand, tapping along to the radio against his jean-clad knee. “Have you ever wanted something so bad it hurts? Something you can’t have?” Harry asks, his voice nearly lost in the chorus of whichever Sam Smith song is blasting from the crackling speakers.

Chancing a brief, concerned glance at Harry, Liam immediately turns down the music before taking the wheel with both hands. “Does this have anything to do with why you and Louis have barely spoken all summer?” he asks gently, his large brown eyes back on the road.

Either Liam’s incredibly perceptive, or Harry’s hopefully obvious. _Probably both,_ he decides, sighing. “Yeah, actually.” He can feel the familiar prickling in the corners of his eyes as he tries not to cry. “I’m in love with him, Li.”

Liam’s head bobs in a nod. “I figured as much.” He reaches over and grips Harry’s leg, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Did you tell him? Is that what happened?”

“Erm, not exactly,” Harry replies, tugging at the safety belt that suddenly feels too tight across his chest. “We kind of, um. Slept together?”

The car veers slightly as Liam whips his head toward Harry, mouth open in shock. He quickly recovers, both hands on the wheel once more, this time with noticeably white knuckles. “You did _what?”_

He hadn’t planned on telling Liam everything, but the other boy is so easy to talk to. Out of all the lads, Liam’s always been the closest thing he has to a brother, and his advice is thoughtful and honest. Besides, it might feel good to get the weight off his shoulders, even for just a little bit.

“We just wanted to lose our virginity, that’s all,” Harry explains in a small voice. “Well, he did, anyway. He has no idea how I feel about him.”

Liam hums, tipping his head to one side. “And all the other boys he’s been with since then?”

Wincing at the reminder, Harry replies: “Putting what he’s learned to good use, I suppose.” The pain is evident in his voice, and Liam, bless him, actually looks distraught on Harry’s behalf.

The other boy is silent for a moment, chewing at his full bottom lip as he drives. It makes his jaw flex under his scruff. “Well,” he says eventually, “I think you need to tell him how you feel.”

The thought has Harry’s stomach churning, bile rising in the back of his throat. “I can’t. It would fuck everything up.”

“More than things already are?”

 _Well, shit._ Liam has a point there. The whole point of the no-strings-attached sex was for things not to get weird, yet here they are. Louis hasn’t allowed himself to be alone in Harry’s presence since the morning after Niall’s party. It’s so different from how they were before, practically inseparable. They used to be a packaged deal, Harry and Louis. Now they were just Harry, and just Louis, and honestly how could things get much worse than that?

“You’re right,” Harry says, his mouth gone dry. “I’ll talk to him after the trip, okay? Don’t want to ruin our weekend.”

Liam doesn’t say anything, merely nods and cranks the radio back up as if he could sense Harry doesn’t want to talk about it any longer. With a grin, troubles pushed to the back of his mind, they sing along at the top of their lungs, Harry’s heart feeling lighter than it has all summer.

❦

It’s late afternoon when their little caravan finally turns onto Shoe Lane. The drive is beautiful, the surrounding scenery is lush and green, both sides of the lane flanked with alternating views of mature trees and endless fields. It’s a rare sunny day, the light filtering through the foliage to dapple the quiet street, and Harry feels calmer already just by being in such a serene locale.

The pub comes into view almost immediately on the right side of the road, looking less like a business and more like someone’s home. The only evidence to the contrary is the hand-painted sign hanging from the building’s stucco exterior, the namesake three horseshoes mounted near the entrance, points turned upward “so the luck won’t run out,” as Harry’s gran would say. It’s quaint, and homey, and Harry is instantly charmed.

Liam eases the car onto the gravel drive curving out of sight behind the building, leading them to the campsite. It’s rather empty for this time of year, only a couple of other tents in view besides the three pre-constructed ‘glamping’ tents, for which all the lads are very grateful as they pile from the cars to stretch their aching limbs. The pitches Liam booked for them are the farthest from the pub, only a few clusters of trees here and there to break up the patchwork of farmland stretching clear to the horizon.

“This is sick, Liam,” Niall says appreciatively, tipping his sunglasses down to see the landscape in all its saturated glory. Harry hums in agreement, holding up his iPhone to take a picture of the view. Taking full advantage of the pub’s open WiFi network, he uploads it to instagram with the caption 'you know what they say about camping… It’s intense.' He knows the instant the other boys get the notification, a chorus of groans and sighs with accompanying eye rolls aimed his way, more fond than exasperated. He just grins shyly and shrugs, slipping his mobile back into his pocket.

  


While Liam goes inside to check them in and purchase firewood, the rest of the group starts unloading their supplies and pulling the tents from their bags. They’ve been well used and smell a bit musty, but the light breeze will air them out soon enough. Harry and Niall take on one tent while Louis and Zayn wrestle with the other, it somehow becoming a race along the way.

That’s how Liam finds them, face scrunched with laughter as he takes in the scene in front of him over the bundle of logs in his arms. Harry and Niall’s tent, while further along, is only vaguely tent-shaped, looking more like a child’s blanket fort than anything. Louis and Zayn are going slower, Zayn checking the instructions and Louis ignoring what Zayn says anyway and just inserting the rods where he sees fit. Dropping the stack of firewood, Liam dusts off his hands and cheers them on, doubling over with laughter when a particularly enthusiastic swing of a tent pole by Niall catches Zayn right in the bum.

In the end, Harry and Niall finish first but Louis and Zayn are declared the winners, the former’s tent erect but with three spare poles that neither lad can seem to figure out what to do with. Still chortling, Liam assigns them campfire duty and skillfully begins dismantling and reworking their attempt at a shelter.

As it turns out, they’re not so skilled at campfires, either.

“Mate,” Niall says with an amused shake of his head, “I don’t see us winning Survivor anytime soon.”

Harry laughs at that, nearly dropping a log on his foot in the process. He’s arranged them into a nice pile, and Niall is holding Zayn’s lighter to a particularly dry one, but it’s doing little more than blackening the peeling grey bark. “Liam was the boy scout, he should be doing this.”

The man in question has easily finished Harry and Niall’s tent and has moved on to helping Louis and Zayn. It would be going a lot faster if Louis wasn’t following behind, covertly pulling out sections of tent pole so that the pile on the ground never gets any lower. He’ll figure it out eventually, which will probably lead to a wrestling match, and if all goes well they’ll have two tents standing before the sun sets.

“You lads look like you could use a hand,” a thick Geordie accent calls from behind the aspiring fire starters. Harry turns toward the voice, Niall doing the same next to him.

Strolling over from the one of the large, bell-shaped tents behind the pub is a pair of women, one taller and blonde and the other short and brunette. Both are dressed quite fashionably, a mix of colours and patterns that seem too bold for the calming palette of the surroundings wolds. Their hands are clasped between them, swinging gently with each step.

They stop a few paces away, sharing a smile at the pitiful excuse for a campfire in front of them. “Don’t go camping much, do we?” the brunette asks, one perfectly arched eyebrow twitching upwards.

Stumbling to his feet, Harry brushes his hands off on his trousers before extending one to the pair. “Not at all,” he admits, offering a bashful smile. “I’m Harry, and this is my mate Niall.”

The shorter girl takes his hand in hers, apples of her cheeks swelling with a grin. “I’m Jade, and this is my girlfriend, Perrie,” she says, indicating the blonde.

Perrie inclines her head in greeting before pointing to the firewood, a gold hoop in her nostril glinting in the sun. “We could help you with that, if you like,” she offers, and the boys accept with enthusiasm. She demonstrates how to stack the logs with a pile of easy-to-burn tinder in the centre, Jade slowly adding kindling until the flames are hot enough to ignite the larger pieces. They have a merrily crackling fire in no time at all, the other three lads wandering over to marvel that neither Harry nor Niall managed to injure themselves.

“I only meant to keep you lot busy, didn’t think you’d actually manage a decent fire,” Liam admits, admiring the well-constructed blaze. “Nicely done.”

Niall jerks a thumb at the girls. “It was all these two,” he says, both ladies beaming in reply. Jade and Perrie introduce themselves to the rest of the boys, and when the two groups split up it’s with plans for a pool tournament in the pub’s game room the next night.

Evening finds them gathered around the crackling fire in camping chairs, each with a marshmallow (or several, in Niall’s case) roasting on a stick over the flames. The air is cooler since the sun went down, just nippy enough that the heat of the fire is comfortable. It’s a perfect night for camping, no sign of rain, the glow from the campfire painting their faces in shades of orange and red. Harry has a beer in his hand and a belly full of sausages, listening to Niall recount the story of when his older brother first caught him and Zayn kissing behind the school. They’ve all heard it a million times, but it gets funnier with each retelling, Niall slipping in outrageous embellishments that have Zayn squawking in protest.

Louis, for once, is uncharacteristically silent, and Harry wonders if he doesn’t know what to do with himself without someone to flirt with for the first time all summer. He just stares into the flames, not even noticing when his marshmallows catches fire, laughing along when the other boys do with no real heart behind it.

“You really need to talk to him,” Liam whispers, feigning a grab for the bag of marshmallows so he can lean closer to Harry.

Harry sighs, retracting his own treat from the flame. It’s evenly browned and bubbly, just the way he likes it. “I know. I will,” he promises, taking a bite of the marshmallow to avoid having to say anything further. It’s too hot, and he burns his mouth, but Liam lets the matter go and quickly engages Niall in a conversation about football. That has Louis perking up a little bit, loudly inserting his opinion anywhere he can, but there’s still something off about the blue-eyed boy.

 _Later. I’ll talk to him later,_ Harry tells himself, finishing off his much cooler marshmallow and reaching for another. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into his best friend, but even a summer of being pushed away doesn’t dampen his desire to make Louis feel better. (Or potentially much, _much_ worse, depending on how he receives the news, but Harry’s always been a bit of an optimist.)

❦

The new day greets them cloudy and calm, dew clinging to the waterproof fabric of their tents. Harry had chosen to share with Niall and Zayn, to “discourage any funny business,” as Liam had put it, while Liam and Louis shared the smaller tent.

Harry climbs out of his sleeping bag and stretches, a twinge in his spine from spending hours on the hard ground. The couple on the other side of the tent slumbers on, their sleeping bags zipped together and tangled hair overlapping on their shared pillow. Harry can’t help but smile at them, how close they are, and how close he knows they will be for years to come.

Then Niall farts in his sleep, and Harry takes that as his cue to leave the tent.

While he’s waiting for the other lads to wake up, Harry wanders around the small campsite, taking photos and humming to himself as he walks. The clouds in the distance loom dark and threatening, but his thoughts fall to much clearer skies and a pair of eyes that matches.

He can’t help but smile to himself, imagining curling up with Louis in their own little tent, feeding each other marshmallows and laughing until their stomachs ached from the combination. They’d snuggle up together and watch the sunset through the open flap of their tent, and if they were too busy kissing and cuddling to appreciate it, well. Harry doesn’t think he’d mind very much.

But he isn’t cuddling with Louis, and sunset is a long way off yet. At this rate, they might not even be speaking by sundown. They’re hardly speaking as it is.

The sun slowly climbs higher as the morning breaks, streaks of pink bleeding through the clouds like arteries. Harry snaps another picture and posts it to Instagram, captioning it 'sailor take warning' after the old adage. He thinks it’s appropriate, anyway.

Zayn is the first to follow Harry out into the new day, eyes barely open as he blinks into the misty morning air. “‘Lo,” he croaks, collapsing into a camping chair and lolling his head against the canvas back.

“Morning!” Harry replies, happy to no longer be alone. He perches on the chair next to Zayn’s, picking up one of the marshmallow roasting sticks and poking at the long-cold ashes of their fire. “Sleep all right?”

Shrugging, Zayn slides a cigarette from a battered pack and lights it, taking a deep drag and blowing the smoke out to meet the ominous grey of the sky. “S’pose so,” he replies, his voice heavily implying that he would much rather have slept in his own bed. Or Niall’s. Harry isn’t sure whether that’s due to sleeping on the hard ground, or sharing a sleeping bag with the aforementioned smelly Irishman.

They sit in comfortable silence, Harry occasionally making a comment and Zayn humming in reply, until the three other boys extract themselves from their tents, all mussed hair and pillow lines.

“Should we have brekkie, then?” Louis asks once they’ve all stretched and yawned themselves awake (or mostly awake, in Zayn’s case).

Harry’s stomach growls in response, the sound loud in the quiet campsite, everyone laughing as Harry blushes and clutches his protesting tummy. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly, managing to catch Louis’ eye.

It doesn’t last long, but the twinkle of amusement in Louis’ eyes sends electricity dancing down Harry’s spine. “Guess that’s a yes, then,” Louis says wryly, digging in their supplies for the electric kettle. They’re all grateful that the pitches have electric hook-ups, because having to build up the fire just to boil water seems like a lot more trouble than it’s worth. Camping was certainly much easier when Harry was young and his parents did all of the work.

They help themselves to breakfast while the water boils, an assortment of muesli bars and fruit. It’s simple but pleasant, and, fortified by tea and food, the lads decide to kick around the football Louis was clever enough to bring along. It isn’t long before Jade and Perrie wander over and join in, along with a kid from one of the other occupied pitches. They play four against four, laughing and shouting between kicks and blocks, until the sky makes good on its promise to split wide open. Fat, cool drops pelt their skin as they run for cover, shrieking and giggling the whole way.

Not ready to end their fun, the five boys follow Perrie and Jade to their luxurious tent, the large, bell-shaped structure housing all of them easily. The girls fall into the double bed across from the entryway, raindrops and makeup running down their reddened faces.

“This is sick,” Niall says, looking around appreciatively as he kicks his shoes off at the opening. Zayn nods in agreement, eyeing the actual bed with barely contained jealousy as Niall pulls them both down to sit on one of the single mattresses against the side wall.

Jade just laughs, scrubbing at her mane of hair with a towel. “Camping is fun and all, but this is camping in style. Sorry, boys,” she shrugs, her large doe eyes sparkling with mirth.

The structure, a cross between a tent and a yurt, is large and airy on the inside, the interior of the canvas a warm beige that contrasts with the grey light outside. Besides the bed and the two mattresses on the floor, there’s also a small kitchenette, complete with a fridge and hob. When Perrie leans over to switch on one of the lamps next to the bed, a glow fills the space and makes it feel almost otherworldly, like they’re in some exotic locale rather than gloomy old England.

“It’s nice, but I’ll take proper camping any day,” Liam says, looking up at the festive garland of pennants circling the tent. “I like the work and roughing it and all that.”

With a bleating laugh, Louis starts shoving Liam toward the entrance. “Don’t want to keep you from roughing it, Payno!” he crows, ignoring the other man’s protests as he edges closer to the pouring rain. “Go on, then! Go sit in our shitty little tents, give us a shout when tea is ready!”

The others laugh at the play fighting, especially when a smug Louis actually manages to push Liam outside, only for Liam to drag the smaller man right along with him. Water is pouring off the roof of the tent in sheets, and Louis gleefully holds Liam underneath one such downpour, Liam splashing as much water back at him as he can while sputtering underneath the deluge.

Finally, Liam actually manages to inhale some rainwater and Louis relents, thumping his friend on the back unhelpfully as Liam coughs.

“You’re not coming back in here sopping wet!” Perrie says sternly, stopping the pair in their tracks. Louis glances down at himself, then over at Liam, probably weighing whether or not the stunt had been worth ending up soaking and banished.

If Harry knows Louis at all (he does), he knows exactly what conclusion the man will reach (it had).

Frown sliding into an easy grin, Louis shrugs and slings an arm around Liam’s back. “Well, Liam, seems we’re not wanted,” he says with a dramatic sigh, blue eyes rolling skyward as if to remind the sky what colour it should be.

His full lower lip stuck out in a pout, Liam glares at the lad next to him. _“You’re_ not wanted. I’m collateral damage,” he whines, though the corners of his eyes still crinkle in amusement. “C’mon, then, let’s go back to our ‘shitty little tents’ and find some dry clothes.”

Once Liam and Louis have changed (their task taking longer than it should’ve after Louis shoved Liam into a mud puddle), the pub has opened for lunch. The group agrees that a hot, easy meal and a few pints are exactly what they need, worth braving the rain on the sprint from the tent to the pub.

For all that it looks like a house from the outside, The Three Horseshoes is the very definition of a pub on the inside. The lighting is dim and intimate except by the bar, shelves of various spirits lit up like museum displays. Quaint wooden tables and booths fill the rest of the dining room, more horseshoes decorating the walls between antique sconces and menu boards. Several tables are already filled, a buzz of conversation and the clatter of silverware against plates not quite drowning out the sound of rain pattering against the windows.

“Now we’re talking,” Niall says with a grin, linking an arm with Harry’s and leading the way to one of the larger tables. They have to steal a couple of chairs, but soon they’re all seated and poring over their menus as a pretty brunette waitress takes their drink orders. The menu is small but varied, and Harry’s mouth is watering from the delicious smells wafting from the next table over.

They tuck into fish and hand-cut chips, steak-and-ale pie, and handmade sandwiches. It’s all delicious and artfully prepared, along with locally sourced, according to the menu, which Harry likes. He’s polished off his chips and is going for his turkey and cranberry sandwich when, across the table, he sees Louis bantering with a very fit waiter in very snug trousers.

Harry slowly lowers the sandwich back to his plate, feeling as though his mouth is filled with ash. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does; Louis has always been flirtatious, even with strangers. But he used to be affectionate with Harry, too. Now that that’s gone, seeing him in action feels like a punch in the gut.

The waiter (Chad, says his name tag,) doesn’t seem to mind a bit as Louis tugs at his apron string and bats his ridiculously long eyelashes. Harry just rolls his eyes at the spectacle, groaning internally, when a sharp elbow in his side gets his attention.

The table’s gone quiet, all eyes on Harry, Liam retracting his arm from where he’d elbowed Harry. His face blanches when he realises he must have made an audible sound, gaze catching on the embarrassed flush rising in Louis’ cheeks as if to underline the wounded look in his eyes.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, cheeks flaming. “Stomach ache. Excuse me,” he says lamely, not daring to look up as he pushes away from the table and flees to the toilets. Once he’s safely hidden away, only a painting of a herd of galloping horses for company, Harry leans against the sink. _What is my fucking problem?_

It shouldn’t hurt to watch his best friend flirt. Harry should be happy that Louis feels confident, should be rooting for him to meet someone and fall in love and have a ton of babies with, all of whom he’ll probably name after One Tree Hill characters (“Lucas Keith Tomlinson, I named you after two of the bravest men I knew…”). Instead, Harry’s bitter and jealous, and, most of all, _hurt._ What did those boys have that Harry didn’t? Was he not good enough? Hot enough? So what if he doesn’t have muscles, and he’s rubbish at footie.

He knows how Louis prefers his tea, and that Louis takes approximately twice as long in the shower as anyone he’s ever met. He knows Louis’ favourite colour and song, and that he can’t watch telly without channel surfing during commercials. He knows about the ticklish spot behind Louis’ knee and that he has a beautiful singing voice, even if he doesn’t believe it.

He knows the taste of Louis’ mouth and the give of his thighs, the sound he makes when he comes and the way he smiles in his sleep right before he wakes up.

Why isn’t any of that enough?

❦

By the time Harry emerges from the loo, someone (presumably Niall) has polished off his sandwich and the table has been cleared. Loud peals of laughter from the adjacent game room lead him to his friends, huddled around a pool table with drinks in hand. He slips among them, smiling sheepishly, but no one comments on his strange behaviour. Ignoring a concerned look from Liam and a cold stare from Louis, he take a pool cue from Jade and asks jovially, “Right, then, solids or stripes?”

They wait out the rain playing pool and darts, daring a run back to Jade and Perrie’s tent to play cards and listen to music. They play poker and sing along to Jade’s iPod and take ridiculous selfies with each other. Louis doesn’t so much as glance at Harry, but at least he didn’t invite the fit waiter along, either. Harry counts that as a win.

The rain eases up just as dusk settles over the countryside, the sky a mottled grey and fog rolling over the fields beyond their camp. Bidding the girls good night, Harry and his friends cross the damp grass back to their tents, still laughing about Liam and Niall lip syncing to some Justin Bieber song. The muddy earth squelches beneath their feet as they busy themselves building a fire, Harry getting out the cooking equipment to make dinner by the warm glow of the flames. They have hamburgers and crisps, and while not as good as Harry could make at home, it’s still a wonderful meal and he preens under his friends’ compliments.

Well, most of his friends, anyway.

Louis’ been withdrawn since the incident at the pub, his sullenness directed at all four boys now. He barely speaks and doesn’t laugh, only pastes on a tight-lipped smile when it’s called for. It has all of them on edge; Louis is the spark that keeps them going, and the absence of that energy is nearly palpable.

“I can’t believe we’re all going off to uni soon,” Liam muses, his lower lip resting on the mouth of a beer bottle.

The other lads nod, a heaviness settling over their circle at the thought. They’ve all been friends for ages, and the idea of going from seeing each other nearly every day to maybe seeing each other over hols is terrifying.

“We’ve had a good time though, haven’t we?” Zayn asks, stroking Niall’s hair as the blond tucks himself into Zayn’s side. “I’ll never forget you lot, and this summer was a brilliant end to this chapter in our lives.”

It’s cheesy as fuck, but also sweet, so none of them tease Zayn for waxing poetic. Instead, Harry offers up a wet smile, looking around at the people who will leave a permanent mark on his heart. “It has been great, hasn’t it?” he asks softly, chuckling to himself as he asks, “Remember when Niall nearly got arrested for jumping into the river completely starkers?”

Laughter splits the air, the weight of the evening lighter because of it. Niall leans away from Zayn just enough to give a pageant wave around the circle, not an ounce of shame on his face.

Louis doesn’t laugh, though. He just frowns at Niall, irises nearly translucent in the flickering light. “What? When did that happen?” he asks with a scowl.

“You weren’t there, Tommo,” Niall says dismissively. “Had a date with Brandon or Brendan or whoever.”

“Oh,” Louis says softly and a bit sad, leaning further back into his chair as his body curves into itself.

The others don’t seem to notice, though, because Liam speaks up next. “What about the time we got takeaway from Nandos and snuck it into the cinema? We were halfway through our meal before they kicked us out!”

Zayn tosses his head back, laughing into the night air. “We would have gotten away with it if Harry wouldn’t have offered to share with the girl sitting next to him!”

“Hey,” Harry drawls in protest, “I was just being nice! How was I supposed to know she worked there?”

“Wait, hold on,” Louis interrupts, looking less sad and more annoyed than before. “Where the hell was I?”

Harry bites his lip, gaze falling to the half empty bottle in his hand. “You begged off, said you’d had a late one the night before,” he says softly, not allowing himself to dwell on how that late night had been spent, or who Louis was spooning as he texted his friends to cancel their plans.

Louis springs to his feet, fingers clenched into fists at his sides. “Well that’s just bloody fantastic!” he shouts, angrily kicking a bottle at his feet. “You all had the summer of your lives, and I fucking missed it. Glad to know you’re all so capable of living it up without me,” he seethes. He kicks the bottle again for good measure, sending it skittering into the fire and causing a burst of sparks to rise. “I’m going to bed. Tonight can be another memory without me in it.” With that, Louis storms off, forcefully zipping open the tent and disappearing inside in a huff.

The other boys exchange shocked glances, minds desperately trying to process what just happened. Louis was the one who canceled plans, who declined invitations to hang out. They’d never stopped inviting him, though. Why is _he_ the one miffed with _them?_

Too close to the tent to discuss the situation, they awkwardly segue into their plans for autumn. Their hearts aren’t in it, though, and once everyone has finished their beers, the fire is put out and four heavy-hearted boys retreat to their sleeping bags.

Harry lies awake for a long time after that, staring at the domed roof of the tent and listening to night sounds. He needs to talk to Louis tomorrow, he decides. This has gone on long enough. The other lads might not see it, might not be able to get a read on Louis’ emotions, but Harry suspects that his best friend isn’t mad at them at all. In fact, he reckons, Louis seemed more upset with himself than anything. And if he realises how much he’s missed out on this summer, maybe—just maybe—he’ll realise _who_ he’s been missing out on, as well.

❦

When Harry wakes up the next morning, Zayn and Niall are already outside. He dresses and grabs his toiletry bag, planning to make use of the pub’s shower facilities. Three bleary-eyed boys are waiting for him outside, sipping at tea and pawing through the remains of their breakfast items. Louis is nowhere to be seen.

“Morning,” Harry greets, slinging a towel over his shoulder. “I’m going to go wash up. When are we packing?”

Liam checks his watch. “We have to check out by 11 AM, so sometime before then, I suppose.”

“Miss my bed,” Zayn grumbles into his tea, a ball of Niall curled up in his lap.

The blond snuggles closer, nearly upsetting his boyfriend’s mug as he does. “Should have brought yours with you like I did,” he says sleepily.

Rolling his eyes fondly, Harry sets off for the showers. They’re reminiscent of a locker room, but the hot water feels amazing as it pours over his body, rinsing away two days of nature and sweat. He allows the stream to pound against the taut muscles of his back, trying to clear his mind as the shower cubicle fills with steam.

His thoughts inevitably turn to Louis, reflecting on a day that feels like a lifetime ago, when he was showering in preparation of losing his virginity.

The details of that morning flood his brain, slick skin and desperate noises, tangled sheets and bitten lips. Harry can feel his dick start to fatten up at the memory, his soapy hand wrapping around it and tugging slowly. He can still taste Louis on his tongue, can see the way the other boy had arched his back as he came.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters to himself, picking up speed. It’s quick and dirty, the images in his mind only highlighting how inadequate his own hand feels after having perfection. One doesn’t simply move on from sleeping with Louis Tomlinson, in Harry’s opinion. He should get in touch with all of Louis’ summer flings; they could start a support group.

When he finally comes with a groan, the water splattering over his fist immediately washes his spunk away. He doesn’t feel any better, though, still as tightly wound as before. It’s like tasting ambrosia and then returning to a life of the food of mere mortals; no taste will ever compare, and the memory is nearly as painful as it is pleasurable.

Harry returns to the campsite after he’s dried off and dressed, hoping none of the boys can tell he just wanked in the shower. Especially not the the boy he wanked over.

Said boy is still missing, however, the other three having barely moved from where he left them. “Louis still asleep?” Harry asks, tossing his towel and toiletries in the general direction of his duffel.

“No, he was the first one up, actually,” Liam says, Harry’s eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Louis never got out of bed any earlier than was absolutely necessary. “I woke up as he was leaving. Said he wanted to go for a walk.” He frowned, fuzzy caterpillar eyebrows drawing close together in worry. “Come to think of it, he’s been gone quite a while now.”

Harry’s eyes lock with Liam’s, silent words passing between them, Zayn and Niall completely oblivious to the exchange. The tilt of Liam’s lips says, ‘you should go after him,’ and the way Harry ducks his head replying, ‘I’m so scared I’ll screw this up.’

What he says out loud is: “I’ll see if I can find him. Could do with a walk myself.” Swooping down on the snuggling couple to his left, Harry plants a sloppy kiss to each of their cheeks. “I love you wankers. I’ll be back soon.” And then, with a quick squeeze of his shoulder from Liam, Harry sets off down Shoe Lane.

It’s a gamble, but he chooses to travel away from town, the narrow lane disappearing around a copse of trees at the corner. A wooden fence frames the road on the opposite side, fields stretching out to meet the skyline in the distance. If the camp was peaceful, this is pure tranquility.

The little fence ends but the wall of greenery continues on, leaves rustling in a gentle breeze. Harry thinks he’s gone the wrong way, or maybe Louis hadn’t stayed on the road, but all of a sudden there’s a break in the trees and his heart leaps into his throat.

Louis is there, perched on a rusted red gate, staring off into the distance. He startles at the sound of Harry’s feet against the pavement, his face softening almost imperceptibly before hardening once more into an unreadable mask. “Harry,” he says simply.

Taking a deep breath, the fresh air filling his lungs and keeping him afloat, Harry closes the distance to the gate, leaning against it casually. It’s the closest he’s been to Louis in months; if he leaned just a little further to his right, his arm would brush against Louis’ knee.

“Hey, Lou,” Harry says, trying to keep his voice steady. “Mind if I join you?”

Louis studies him for a moment, contemplating, before giving an impassive shrug. “Not my gate, is it?”

The coolness in Louis’ tone sends a chill through Harry’s bones, reminding him why it is he can’t allow this to go on any longer. He climbs the gate with the grace of a newborn foal and situates himself a safe distance away from his best friend.

Not knowing what to say or who should start, the two of them wait in tense silence, watching birds and butterflies swoop and soar. Just existing next to each other, close together but worlds apart. It never used to be like this, with them. They once could sit in each other’s company for hours without saying a word, but now it’s chipping away at his resolve and he’s turning to face Louis, determined to put a stop to this one way or another.

“Listen, Louis... _Louis?”_ Harry gapes at the boy sat next to him.

Louis’ cheeks are wet, teardrops sliding down to darken the fabric of his vest. His back is bowed as he slumps forward, elbows resting on his knees and hands forming a cradle for his dampened face. “I messed up, Haz,” he sobs, sounding so sad, so _broken,_ that Harry thinks he might feel it as well.

As if the last couple of months never happened, Harry scoots closer to Louis and wraps an arm around his shaking shoulders. “Shh,” he soothes, fingertips tracing calming designs over the slope of Louis’ back. “Talk to me, love.”

There’s a glimmer of apprehension in Louis’ eyes when he fixes Harry with a watery stare, but then he exhales and words follow the air spilling from his lips. “I wasted my whole fucking summer, you know?” Louis pauses to hiccup and sniffle. “I missed out on all these stories and jokes... My last summer with my best mates in the whole world, and for what?” he scoffs, tugging at his hair in frustration. When his hands drop, one lands on Harry’s thigh, and Louis grips the muscle there, instinctively creating a physical connection.

“I don’t know, Lou,” Harry says in a small voice. “What was it all for?”

Louis’ eyes are wet and blue like the sea, and just as tumultuous. “I guess I was trying to distract myself,” he says, suddenly unable to look Harry in the face. His hand stays where it is, though. “I couldn’t get you— _that day_ —out of my head. Still can’t.”

The force of Louis’ words nearly knocks Harry backwards off the gate. “Sorry?” he chokes out, eyes going wide.

A rueful laugh escapes Louis’ throat. “After we had sex, I told you it didn’t matter, but I didn’t even believe that myself.” He’s toying with the hem of his vest so hard Harry half expects it to tear any second. “I mean, what kind of arsehole falls for his best friend?”

Harry can hear his heart pounding in his ears, the sound deafening as Louis’ confession sinks in. “Louis,” he says, not able to keep the tremble from his voice, “what are you saying?”

“I fucking love you, okay?” Louis explodes, pushing himself off the gate and landing heavily on his feet. “I’m _in_ love with you, and I’ve tried for ages not to be, but I can’t. Right inconvenient, innit? And now I’ve fucked up our friendship.”

Licking his lips, Harry watches the entire summer play out in his mind, looking for some sign that what Louis is saying is true: the string of boys, the avoidance, the coldness—none of those things point to him loving Harry. He’s never felt so simultaneously hopeful and furious in his life.

Harry slams his hand against the gate, the sound ringing out and startling both of them, before rounding on Louis. “You’re in love with me?” he spits. “You’ve got a damn funny way of showing it.” Louis’ eyes have gone wide as Harry tears into him, not used to hearing his mate so agitated. Harry is usually calm, slow-to-anger, but right now he’s seeing red and his palm hurts from slapping the stupid gate and god, Louis is _such an idiot._

“I had to watch you parade around bloke after bloke,” he continues, sliding from his perch to the ground, only to pace back and forth like a cornered animal. “I spent all summer wondering if things were ever going to be same between us, and wishing it was me you were hanging off of, and you’re telling me that was all for nothing?” He shoves his fingers through his wet curls, sending droplets flying as he tosses his head angrily. “How many guys have fucked you now, Lou? Seven, eight? You were just waiting to get your virginity out of the way so you could sleep with half of England, yeah?” Louis doesn’t say anything, just stares at the ground, jumping when Harry yells out, “Answer me!”

“One,” Louis admits, so softly Harry isn’t sure he’s spoken at all.

“Sorry?”

Louis clears his throat and tries again, louder. “One, Haz. I’ve been with one person since you,” he murmurs, finally looking Harry in the eye. “Just the night of the party. I… I had to see if what I felt with you was there every time, but it wasn’t.” He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing under the golden skin of his throat. “It’s just you, Harry. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out. Or, like, sorry I figured it out at all, if you don’t want me now.”

Harry mulls over Louis’ words, eyeing him warily. “Why didn’t you? Have sex with the others, I mean?”

“Didn’t feel right,” Louis shrugs. “No matter how fit they were, and how much I wanted to let myself go, I couldn’t. They were never you.”

It hits Harry like a locomotive, the enormity of what Louis’ just said. One person. Out of all those boys, he only tried it with one of them, and still wanted Harry afterward. Harry never had to compete with any of them, it seems. Instead, they were the ones who didn’t measure up to him. Louis _loves_ Harry.

“Harry?” Louis prompts meekly. “Haz, please, say something. Anything. I’m so sorry.”

Instead of speaking, because he’s pretty sure he can’t, Harry throws himself at Louis, planting kiss after kiss across the beautiful face he’s admired for so long, over the freckles that have always been there, and the scruff that hasn’t.

Louis flinches away at first, as if Harry was going to hit him, but soon he’s relaxing into the kiss, returning it eagerly. Their lips are chapped and warm, and there’s maybe a tad too much saliva, but Harry crowds Louis up against the rusted gate and kisses him like it will keep the world from ending.

The sound of a car rattling down the lane has them jumping guiltily apart a few minutes later, letting go of each other and trying to catch their breath. The silence is heavy, filled with unspoken ‘what if’s and ‘maybe’s and ‘oh my god’s.’ Harry turns to look out over the countryside, afraid to face Louis and learn his fate.

“Harry?” Louis says gruffly, once the car has gone on by without the driver so much as glancing at them.

“Yeah?”

“I think we need to take this back to the tents.”

Harry feels so much in that moment. He feels the warmth of the slowly climbing sun, the gentle breeze rustling the leaves overhead. He feels everything he’s ever wanted to tell Louis and more, and so much affection and want for the boy looking at him expectantly that he thinks he might burst. But instead of saying any of that, the best his lust-addled brain can manage is: “Mmm, yeah.”

Without another word, Louis grabs Harry’s wrist and practically pulls him back to camp. The anticipation has Harry’s heart jumping, his throat feeling too small even as his chest feels too large. As he obediently follows along, Harry mentally curses at Louis for choosing to have a breakdown this far away from the campsite. Granted, it hadn’t seemed like a long walk at all until snogging Louis in a tent was waiting at the other end of it.

The campsite is mercifully empty when they get back, most of the pitches newly vacant, and the other three boys nowhere to be seen. Harry doesn’t think their presence would have stopped them, though, Louis tearing open the tent he shared with Liam so quickly that the zip catches at the fabric. It’s soon free, and the very moment it is, Harry tackles him inside with another heated kiss, leaving the tent flap to hang slightly open.

Louis’ shirt is off before his back even touches the sleeping bag beneath him. Harry straddles his hips, smoothing his hands over the tanned expanse of skin before him, wanting to taste it so badly that his mouth is watering.

So he does.

Louis groans as Harry latches onto his neck, slowly dragging his teeth down to nip at the pronounced ridge of Louis’ collarbone. He licks and sucks at the spot like he’s starving and Louis’ skin is all the nourishment he needs. It tastes like sweat and campfire smoke, and Harry wants to drown himself in it.

A roll of Louis’ hips has their clothed cocks rubbing together, and Harry pulls away with a gasp as his back arches at the contact. Louis looks positively ravished underneath him, all glassy eyes and swollen mouth with a small, spit-slick love bite blooming on his neck. It’s not terribly impressive, but Harry’s never marked anyone like that before, and seeing his handiwork on the clean slate of Louis’ skin has his own hips rocking desperately forward, seeking relief for the throbbing ache between his legs.

“Haz, Haz, Harry,” Louis chants each time their erections brush together, eyes clenched tightly closed and mouth gaping. “God, babe. I want you inside of me so bad.”

Harry stills. Despite their talk at the gate, despite the very horny and willing boy beneath him, he can still hear Louis’ words echoing through his mind. __When it actually matters.__

“If we do this,” he murmurs, wanting so badly to keep touching but knowing he needs to get this out first, “it has to matter this time. Like, it has to count.”

“What?” Louis asks, his eyes drifting open and settling on Harry, pupils so wide that there’s only a small halo of blue still visible. “Oh, Harry, of course it will. It counted then, too.” He pulls Harry down against him, just hugging him close. “I’m so sorry it took me this long to admit it. I wasn’t ready to accept it myself, much less tell you.” He places the gentlest of kisses on each of Harry’s cheeks. “You always matter to me. Always have and always will.”

Harry buries his face into the crook of Louis’ neck, smiling into the love bite. “You always matter to me as well, Lou,” he whispers, just loud enough to be heard over their pounding hearts. “And, for the record, I’m in love with you too.”

That sentence is all it takes for Louis to spring into action, ridding Harry of his shirt and frantically pawing at the button of his fly. There’s an urgency now, a deep-seate need that was missing the first time around. That was slow and gentle, so they could learn; this is the practical exam, and they rush to undress as if they’re being timed.

It’s only when they’re completely naked in the tent, grinding against each other with abandon, that Harry’s brain catches up with what they’re about to do and registers a problem.

“Shit,” he swears, pulling out of Louis’ arms and sitting up. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What’s the matter?” Louis asks, worry settling in his eyebrows.

Harry’s expression is pained as he speaks. “We can’t. I didn’t think– I don’t have any, you know,” he mutters, _“supplies.”_

Louis just laughs. “Good thing I do, then,” he says coyly, crawling over to his bag and digging through it. He pulls out a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms, tearing one off. “Don’t give that look, I wasn’t planning anything,” Louis admonishes when he sees Harry’s face. “It’s been in my overnight bag since Niall's party.”

Right, Niall’s party. Louis moaning Harry’s name as some guy shagged him in the guest bedroom. The mental image has Harry lunging for the condom, grabbing it and the lube before pushing Louis back until he’s lying flat again. “I’m going to make you forget all about that guy,” Harry promises, uncapping the lube and generously coating his fingers.

As one slick digit nudges at his entrance, Louis shivers with pleasure. “You were better than him your first time, love. Bigger, too,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows. His face goes slack once Harry pushes his finger in, encasing it in the warm, velvet heat of Louis’ arse.

Louis’ still tight, and Harry still takes his time, but he’s up to three fingers with Louis whimpering before he knows it. It takes him a few tries, but eventually he locates Louis’ prostate, a few sure strokes of his fingertips making Louis squirm and clench around him.

“Now, now, ready now,” Louis moans, reaching down to wrap a hand around himself. He doesn’t stroke, merely holds tightly around the base, as if he might come any moment.

It makes Harry feel just a bit like a sex god.

And, as a kind and benevolent sex god, he wastes no time granting Louis’ request. He slides on the condom and slicks himself up, and this time he’s able to bury himself completely in one go. Louis feels just as amazing as he remembers, slick and hot and pulsing around him, and a tiny nod of encouragement from Louis is all it takes to spur him into motion.

They set a frantic pace, hips slamming together as Harry buries himself again and again. Louis’ hands scrabble over his back, nails digging in when Harry gets the angle just right, and the dull sting edges Harry closer and closer to release. It’s so much better this way, he thinks, being able to look into Louis’ eyes as he thrusts. Louis is so gorgeous, falling to pieces underneath him, the uncertainty of their first time a distant memory.

“So close, love,” Louis whines, a drizzle of precome rolling down the slope of his belly and pooling in his navel. The sight has the tight ball of heat in Harry’s abdomen bursting like a balloon, pleasure radiating all the way to his curling toes as he thrusts once more and comes.

Hand still clamped around his dick, Louis starts to stroke himself, but Harry peels his hand away. He pulls out as gently as possible before scooting down between Louis’ legs and taking the head of his dripping cock into his mouth. Louis was right; the taste isn’t as bad as he thought it would be, but he’s barely started to suck when Louis pulls his hair sharply and comes in his mouth, Harry swallowing each spurt until Louis goes boneless beneath him. He presses a kiss to the tip of Louis’ sensitive prick, making it twitch in response, before dipping his head and sucking the precome out of Louis’ belly button like a shot.

“Bloody hell, Harry. Oh, my god,” Louis groans, watching the curly-haired boy lick him clean. “You’re going to be the death of me.” With that he pulls Harry up his body, licking into his mouth and chasing the taste of himself there. It’s filthy and hot, and Harry’s almost managed to forget they’re in a very thin tent in a very public campground—

—Until cheers and applause erupt from just outside the tent.

“About time you two got your acts together!” Niall’s voice hollers, hooting with laughter.

“There better not be anything on my sleeping bag!” Liam adds, sounding amused yet deadly serious at the same time.

Harry just groans, hiding his face against Louis’ chest in shame. Louis, however, doesn’t seem bothered in the least, laughing along with them as he runs a soothing hand over Harry’s sweating back. “All right, lads, free show’s over!” he shouts. “And unless you want to listen to round two, I recommend you get started packing up the car while Harry and I get our kits back on!”

After a few more teasing jabs and a hand smacking at the tent wall closest to their heads, the pair is left alone once again.

“I can’t believe our friends just heard us fucking,” Harry grumbles, certain his face is as red as Louis’ sleeping bag. He’s embarrassed and, much to his chagrin, a little bit turned on.

“Don’t worry about it, love. This will be one of those stories that we laugh at together, when we come home from uni and all meet back up over hols,” Louis assures him.

“Except you were here for this story,” Harry adds, his lips dragging along Louis’ chest as he speaks.

“I don’t plan on missing another memory ever again,” Louis promises, and even without seeing his lips, Harry can hear the smile in his voice.

Eventually they have to sit up and get dressed, Louis tying off the condom and sticking it inside a dirty sock in his bag. “Don’t let me forget that’s there, Mum might kill me if she finds it in the washing machine,” he jokes.

As Harry retreats to his own tent to pack, his mind is racing. What does this mean? What are they now? With them going off to different universities in a few short weeks, trying to be anything more than friends seems foolhardy. And yet, Harry thinks that maybe, out of anyone he knows, they stand the best chance of making it work.

Car boots well stuffed and pitches empty, the boys say their goodbyes to Jade and Perrie, exchanging phone numbers. As it turns out, both girls will be attending London South Bank University come autumn, same as Zayn and Niall. “We can go on double dates!” Jade squeals, kissing each of them on the cheek in farewell.

They pile into their vehicles, though this time Harry and Louis climb into the backseat of Liam’s car together. Liam has poked fun at them the least (well, since Louis threatened to hide the condom somewhere in Liam’s belongings instead). They twine themselves together, no different than they would on Harry’s couch, but somehow far closer than ever before.

❦

“I still don’t get why Peyton couldn’t have ended up with Jake,” Louis sighs wistfully, eyes glued to the screen as if this isn’t the hundredth time he’s seen this episode. “They were the best couple on the whole show.”

“Because she was still in love with Lucas,” Harry explains, playfully smacking Louis with a pillow. They’re reclining on the bed inLouis’ room, watching One Tree Hill on his laptop. “Besides, isn’t Lucas your favourite? Don’t you want him to end up with Peyton?”

“Aww, Haz, you do pay attention!” Louis croons, flinging his arms around Harry until they both topple over sideways in bed. “It only took you, what, three times watching the show?”

Harry laughs, dropping a quick kiss to the endearing smirk inches away from his face. “Four. And it’s grown on me. This show will always remind me of the day we decided to get together.”

“’Get together’ makes it sound far more romantic than it was, if I recall,” his boyfriend teases, fringe falling into his face as he sits back up.

“It was romantic,” Harry argues, “we just didn’t realise it at the time.”

Louis doesn’t answer, only rolls his eyes fondly as he tucks Harry back into his side. It’s hasn’t always been easy, their relationship, both of them living for long weekend visits and late night Skype calls, few and far between but just enough to keep them going. They’re almost finished with their first year of uni, and next term Harry is going to transfer to Manchester to be closer to Louis. They spend hours daydreaming about getting a flat together, and seeing each other every day, having all their friends come stay the weekend like old times.

Now, curled up in a student bedroom in a too-small bed, Harry can’t wait for that future. Difficulties aside, the past several months as Louis’ boyfriend have been some of the best of his life. His love for the boy seems to grow more with each passing day, and even though the sex has only gotten better, it’s just a small fraction of their relationship. It never ceases to amaze Harry how something that started out as an isolated sexual encounter could turn into something more incredible than he ever could have hoped for. He wishes he could go back in time, to the moment when his young lips first touched Louis’ on their walk home, and tell himself that he had all of this to look forward to.

Even now, nestled snugly in the arms of the boy he’s wanted since he was twelve years old, Harry still has so much to eagerly anticipate, including plenty more firsts: first flats, first dances, first child. And, Harry muses, watching the man he loves, blue eyes lit by the glow of the screen, he’s even looking forward to the next hundred One Tree Hill marathons. As long as he’s with Louis, be it the first time or fiftieth, he knows that everything will be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. =) I'd love to hear what you thought. There's a rebloggable post on my tumblr [here!](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/post/125732218721/never-had-a-chance-by-kiwikeroicanhazzalou)


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